Trial By Fire
by Luna Goldsun
Summary: SEQUEL TO COURAGE UNDER FIRE. A year has passed since the Dakota Destroyer, and for Virgil, Richie, and Francis, things are already heating up once again in Dakota, when a scientist and a thief uncover a plot to recreate the Big Bang all over again...
1. Chapter 1

Trial By Fire

Chapter 1

Author's notes: okay, so since people have been badgering me, HERE IT IS! The sequel to _Courage Under Fire_, the **totally redone** _Trial By Fire_. A few things have definitely been changed, but I'm keeping at least one or two original characters.

I should also forewarn you all that I am a full-time college student, I'm majoring in English/Creative Writing (Predictable, yes no?) so that means I will be busy for the next few months. When I am not in class, I am usually doing homework, reading, or writing papers. School, and work, always comes first for me, but I will do my best to bring this out to you. Again, I am in college, so I WILL be busy!

Disclaimer: I've said it before, I'll say it again, The WB owns the boys and any characters you recognize from the show. Donovan, Natasha and Jack all belong to me, so no stealing!

So, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen…Trial By Fire…

* * *

He sat perched on the rooftop of the old apartment building like a hawk on a branch, the musty old smell of fish and motor oil lingering in the heavy, late summer air. While the day had been humid and noisy despite the high temperatures, the night around him was still and unnervingly quiet as he looked through his night-vision binoculars at the waterfront below him. The man had a small briefcase on him, and looked like a regular dark leather briefcase to the untrained eye; but years of being in the business had helped him perfect his tactics. This was a business where any sort of mistake could mean imprisonment, even death.

Sure, he would admit that his…occupation…was less-than-legal. But he wasn't about to list "Occupation: Smuggler" on his census forms…

Suddenly some movement caught his eye. He took an infrared scanner out of his briefcase and looked through it. It was definite; the boat had just come in. that meant he would need to get closer. He quickly, yet quietly, packed up his things and slinked along the roof, rushing down the rusty fire escape, careful not to alert the people living inside the building. Rationality scolded him, besides, what did he have to fear from a bunch of addicts and drunks anyway?

There was at least a ten-foot drop from the bottom of the fire escape to the alley below, and he didn't want to risk lowering the rusty ladder and drawing attention to himself. He made a quick calculation, spied a pile of black trash bags, and made his decision. In one fluid motion, he was able to throw his briefcase over to the pile, and it landed with a quiet thump on top of the pile. Next, he lowered himself off the side of the fire escape, and dangled by his arms like he was preparing for a pull-up. Then he calmly let himself fall, landing in a crouch. The impact, though minimized, sent shockwaves through his joints, and he bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out. _Anti-arthritis medication my ass_, he thought. He may have been pushing sixty, but this man was far from ready to retire just yet…

As soon as his feet hit the ground, and after he grabbed his things, he rushed towards the docks, his dark clothes helping him blend in perfectly with the shadowy and sordid surroundings. As he meandered through the deserted alleyways, skirting around dumpsters and rusting trash cans, he felt his heart jump a few times. No, not tonight, he couldn't afford to mess up now. _It's just nerves_, he told himself. _No need to lose it now._

Finally he made it to the docks and hid himself behind a warehouse, watching the barge carefully. He could barely see it through the mist, but once he took his infrared scanner out again, he was able to see red shapes walking around.

_Guards_.

He inwardly cursed. He may not have the chance to get inside that night. Knowing this buyer, whatever the cargo aboard that barge was, it wasn't going to be above-board. He furrowed his brows and looked around him. Lots of guards, but so far, nothing else out of the ordinary. He had to admit, it was pretty clever of them to use an old, barnacle-encrusted, and rusting old ship to carry this cargo— if this was, in fact, the cargo he was looking for. Most people would have looked at the ship and thought it was simply an old oil tanker, nothing more, nothing less. The fact it was an oil tanker on Lake Dakota, when there were no oil refineries—at least none still in service—_that_ was suspicious.

Suddenly, he saw through the infrared, a limousine pull up. Curious, he decided to get a little closer…

After skulking past a couple armed guards, he managed to get close enough to the limo to see someone get out. He bit his lip to keep from gasping out loud, but his eyebrows shot up.

_Edwin Alva Jr_, he thought. _Well I'll be damned_. He knew that Alva Corp was somehow involved in this trade-off, but he'd never guessed Edwin's _kid_ was behind it.

He'd heard very little about Tech Corp in the past couple years, at least not since Alva Sr. had succumbed to one of his experiments. The news reports were as varied as the rumors and tabloid trash that circulated soon after the incident, but all that they had ever agreed on was that there had been an explosion in one of Alva Corp's labs that took the life of Alva Sr. as well as a couple young scientists. The smuggler had forgotten their names, but apparently they were notorious for trying to bring down Static Shock.

Whatever occurred, Edwin Alva Jr. succeeded his father and took over the company, managing within a year to boost profits, and provide more jobs for people desperately in need of it. Edwin had even donated money to humanitarian efforts and granted money to an Edwin Alva Sr. Scholarship.

The spying smuggler wasn't fooled. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and he was quite certain that the kid was just as twisted and obsessed as his father. The entire smuggling underworld knew that Alva Sr. was notorious for his biological testing, and many refused to work with him. The smuggler's own syndicate had broken off ties with the dead businessman long ago…was it really twenty years?

The only real thing he knew was the Big Bang…when all those freaks had been created during a gang battle. Many people guessed that the Big Bang resulted in Static Shock, as well as all those "Bang Babies" or whatever the hell they were called. This smuggler didn't care—all he needed was a substantial paycheck, and he was happy.

Edwin exited the limo and a tall dark-haired man in a business suit materialized out of the mist. Both men were dressed in black business suits, and they held a short conversation, probably trying to reach an agreement on the price of the goods.

This was starting to get interesting. But the spy could have sworn he knew that other man from somewhere…then it hit him like a semi going 85 in a 50 zone. Donovan Holmes. That name was notorious to criminals everywhere. The guy was one-half Italian, one-half Russian, and all infamous. Though his name had not hit the mainstream media—yet—his name was still spoken as a curse in governments and intelligence agencies all around the world. He was well-known to stockpile weapons and bombs, and the rumors went that Donovan even had samples of Ebola virus and smallpox that he used to keep world leaders and enforcers from getting to close to him.

Oh yes, Donovan was a Class-A asshole, and it didn't take a genius to figure that whatever Alva Jr. was doing with this creep, the kid was in _way_ over his head.

The spying smuggler finally witnessed the end of the transaction as both men shook hands, and Donovan swept his arm as an expression of welcome. Throwing his arm around Alva's shoulders, he led the man towards the ship, giving the signal to his men to start unloading.

The smuggler didn't like this at all. Why on earth was Alva Corp investing in a terrorist? It made no sense to him, but considering the company's past, it probably shouldn't have surprised him. But he'd seen enough. His instincts were telling him to get away while he still could, but something stopped him.

A forklift had been started and was being operated by one of Donovan's goons, it seemed. A pod bay door opened on the side of the ship on the side closest to the smuggler's position, and he was able to see inside. This time, he did gasp…in horror.

Biochemical matter. Weapons. Alva Corp was buying mutagenic gases from…wait. His brain skidded to a halt.

_Holy shit_, he thought.

Alva was going to stage another Big Bang.

* * *

The kids immediately cheered as the flame-haired man walked in the door. They whooped and hollered, and a couple of the preteen boys pounced and jumped on his back.

"Francis!" they all cried out joyfully. A number of the smaller children at the Freedman's Community Center rushed over to greet him.

Francis Stone, a former juvenile delinquent—and jail bait—had been a free man for three years, and as his parole officer had mentioned once before, he was impressed by how well Francis had reentered society. Part of it might have had something to do with the bang-baby's relations and connections, but mostly, the preferred theory was that the two loves of his life were what set him right.

He laughed and grinned ear to ear as the kids crowded around him. He hugged each and every one of them, ruffling the hair of a few boys and throwing smiles at a couple girls, who giggled behind their little hands as if they shared a secret with the man.

Francis had finally cut his hair short again—the long hair wasn't cutting it anymore. He had shaved a bit too, preferring a more clean-cut appearance. He was now 31 years of age, and in the prime of his life, a smile ever-present on his face. He had a lot to smile for: he was given a new life, a new home, a chance to turn his whole life around that resulted in one of the nicest jobs he'd ever had. And the fact he was in love with the two greatest men in the world helped too…

He looked up after someone cleared their throat; Francis smiled and nodded politely. "Hey, Mr. H."

Time had been good to Robert Hawkins, the man still radiated a calm and had a presence that afforded him the respect and prestige in the community, and even around the whole city. Robert's son, Virgil, was a prominent lawyer in the criminal justice system, and they knew the father by association with the son. He was well-respected, and all of it was equally deserved. And though his hair was graying, his vision getting poorer, and joints starting to bother him, there was still the spark in his eye that showed he was not down and out yet.

Robert smiled fondly and opened his arms for a hug, which Francis returned wholeheartedly.

"Welcome back," Robert said. "We were afraid you wouldn't come back."

"I've been busy at the shop—I was commissioned to work on this one guy's bike, and he kept changing his mind on what he wanted. It was such a pain…"

"Well, we're glad to have to back," the elder said, throwing a fatherly arm around the flame-haired man's shoulders. He led him in the direction of the gym. "Randy and Todd have been badgering me about getting you to play another game."

"No way," he scoffed. "I beat them fair and square."

"Francis, the boys are eight and ten."

He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted like a little boy stuck in a corner. "I still won."

Robert chuckled. "Susan's been looking for you too."

"Oh jeez," he rolled his green eyes. "What'd I do now?"

"It seems you promised to help her arrange the canned food drive for Thanksgiving…"

"That's three months away!" Francis argued. "Can't it wait?"

"Francis," Robert lightly scolded. "You gave your word…"

"Alright," he said dejectedly, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat, "Alright, alright…I get it. I'll go find her and organize it…" he stopped just outside the gym's door and looked inside to see all the kids running around. He stopped when he saw two familiar faces. Robert nodded his assent and allowed the younger man walk inside and stride over to…

"Hey Ivan, Natasha!" he called out, waving his arms.

Ivan and Natasha Evans had been married for less than a year, but already, Francis could see the blind woman's bulging stomach beneath her dress. When he'd heard the news from Virgil, he was stunned. His initial reaction—as well as Richie's—was to shudder and convulse at the thought of Ivan "Ebon" Evans procreating. But, as time wore on, he gradually came to accept the idea, even welcome it. His relationship with his former rival was still icy at best, but for the most part, Francis and Ivan had managed to bury the hatchet…and not in each other's backs.

Natasha, also known as Serendipity, for her ability to predict the future and see things that others couldn't, turned her lovely face in the direction of his voice and smiled sweetly, a maternal glow emanating from her like a halo of heavenly light. Ivan looked like a nervous wreck, trying to get her to sit down. She was well along in her pregnancy, and by the size of her stomach, Francis guessed she didn't have long to go. As he reached them, she finally gave in to her husband's pleas and sat in a folding chair, and accepted the hug from Francis and kissed him on the cheek in greeting.

"It is so good to hear your voice again," she said, beaming. "We haven't heard from you in quite some time…"

"Yeah, Red," Ivan teased. "We thought you'd be dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Yeah, you wish," Francis muttered. "So how much longer?"

Natasha smiled and laid her hand on her stomach. "Tomorrow is the due date, but I believe this little one will be late. I believe she will be the type who likes to sleep in late on weekends, and will be very stubborn…"

"It'll be a boy," Ivan said smugly.

"I don't know why you even bother," Francis said to him, arching an auburn eyebrow. "You know she's right."

Ivan whispered, "Yeah, but that's not what I've been telling all the guys I work with: they got their money on it being a boy."

Francis grinned. "Easy money?"

"Easy money," the dark man said, high-fiving the meta-human. Natasha asked, "I don't sense Virgil or Richard with you. Are they working?"

Ivan and Francis shared a look. "Uh, yeah…hard at work as usual. In fact, they had to take a, um, business trip…"

She smiled knowingly. "Ah, I see…missing them?"

"All the time," he said truthfully.

Francis' green eyes kept sliding down to her stomach, and it appeared even to the casual observer that his mind was processing things.

"Francis," Natasha said, "sit."

He obeyed, and she placed her hands on his cheeks and guided his face to hers. Though her eyes were physically sightless, her special abilities granted to her through an unfortunate turn of events gave her the capability to "see" far more than an average person…

_Where did they go?_

Francis didn't care how long he knew her; the telepathy would always unnerve him. The very notion that she could drill into his head and read his thoughts bothered him.

_I can not read your thoughts, Francis. Thoughts can not be 'read'. _

_Whatever_, he thought.

_Did they say where they were?_ she asked.

He shook his head. _They mentioned leaving the country—something for the League._

_This bothers you_, she noted.

_I hate being left out of the loop. It's the Justice League, not the fucking CIA!_

Natasha smiled smugly. _Should I tell you? The American Government has offered me work._

He glanced at her, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. _REALLY?_

_Yes, they think I could do good work for reconnaissance…_ she winked.

He groaned. _You mean reading the enemy's mind, and getting information from that?_

_Precisely._

He had to find satirical humor in that. It was just too damn funny—all those conspiracy buffs would have taken this as definite proof that the US government was using psychic spies. Well, at least now he knew there was some validity to those claims.

_So I'm guessing Ivan will have to get used to you saying 'I'd tell you how my day was, but then I'd have to kill you' then?_

She thought about it, cocking her head to the side and pursing her lips. _No, I don't believe so…he's smart enough to know to not ask._

_One would think…_ he thought before he could stop himself.

She smiled and laughed a little. Ivan looked at her quizzically; she touched his arm, asking, "Would you get us some water please, dear? I'm parched."

He nodded, and kissed her forehead before walking away to do as he was asked. Natasha turned back to Francis.

"You have nothing to worry about," she assured him. "If Virgil and Richard are not sharing these things with you, there has to be a good reason."

"If there is, I can't see it," he sighed dejectedly. "I worry about them, you know? It's a dangerous job, what they do…and a thankless one…"

She nodded in understanding, resting a slender hand on his knee to comfort him. "You feel as though something would happen to them, and that you'd never see them again?"

He stared right into her face. "It scares the living shit out of me."

"Then tell them, when they get back. Tell them how this worries you, trust me, they will understand."

Francis said nothing, but felt a small hand tug at the hem of his crimson red t-shirt. He looked to his right and saw a small boy with a basketball in his hands. He was looking up at him with hope in his round dark eyes. Francis smiled.

"Hey Natasha…I'm gonna play a couple games."

She grinned. "Enjoy yourself."

"Don't worry," he said, standing, and pausing to stretch his legs. "I will."

Natasha heard the other children cheer as Francis' sneakers thudded against the wood flooring in the community center's gymnasium. The rubber soles of sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as a shrill whistle was blown, and children's shouts, playful jeers, and cheers rang out around the room just as Francis' laughter did.

"He really likes those kids, doesn't he?" Ivan said as he sat back down with his wife. He handed her a water bottle, already opened for her convenience. She smiled fondly; her husband treated her so well. As she sipped her water, she sighed. Ivan's hand covered hers and gripped it. She chuckled.

"Its fine, dearest…the time has not yet come." She could easily predict how he would react to her labor: he would try to put on the appearance of calm, but would really be as jumpy as…how did Francis once put it? Ah yes…'as jumpy as a squirrel on crack'. She struggled to hide the amused smile as it threatened to spill from her lips. That sounded about right…

She gasped as something shot through her psyche.

"Natasha?" her worried husband asked. "Are you alright?" he wrapped his arms around her protectively.

Though it was quite hot and humid inside the gym, the smell of sweat rising into the air, a thick perfume mingling with the smells of the summer air, Natasha felt a chill rush over her body. It was then she was certain of something, something she had hoped was over and done with from years ago.

"No…" she gasped.

"Natasha?" Ivan asked.

She shook herself out of it. "I'm fine," she said. "Just, had a little feeling…and it is NOT the baby!" she said before he could freak out. But the sense that she had received bothered her greatly. It bothered her about as much as being under the "care" of Miles Fisher had been…that's when it occurred to her.

"Ivan darling," she said in a voice betraying her concern. "We need to find Static."

* * *

A/N: how was that for a first chapter of the new fic? Please read and review. When I say this is a sequel, I mean it—questions that remained unanswered in Courage Under Fire will be answered here. I will update whenever I get the chance, so please remain patient with me. 


	2. Chapter 2

Trial By Fire

Chapter 2

Okay, a couple things 1) If you have not read my other Static fic _Courage Under Fire_, nothing in this fanfiction will make any sense. 2) The reason Virgil is a lawyer is purely situational irony on my part. I simply thought it would be hysterical if Virgil had gone to law school, given his laid-back attitude. Still, I couldn't see him as a cop, or a doctor, or a teacher. So lawyer it was.

Also, I was reading over _Courage Under Fire_ the other day…oh my God, what the hell was I thinking? I consider it a piece of crap now, but that's only because I've learned so much since I wrote it. Thank you 300-level Creative Writing class!

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. Ergo, I do not own anything affiliated with Static Shock. There, happy?

* * *

He hated these summit meetings. World leaders only called these to get some good publicity. Static stood behind the chair of the Minister of South Korea and watched carefully as the smaller, bespectacled man took out a pen and proceeded to sign a peace treaty. Static held back on making a disgusted noise. There was no way North Korea, China and South Korea would be able to make this treaty work, that much was certain. He had no idea why the President of the United States bothered.

The North Korean leader was a grim, stone-faced man, whose deep frown lines only solidified the fact of his character; he had been instated as leader of the Asian country only a year ago. His eyes were narrow slits, even more narrowed when he was angry, displeased, or simply annoyed. Static's eyes roved over to his sidekick, Gear, who stood behind the North Korean Minister. Gear sent him an apologetic and long-suffering look.

Both heroes hated these meetings. The only reason they were there was because Superman had ordered them to be there in case fighting broke out. Static had called him an idiot. Static Shock had called Superman—the Man of Steel _himself_—an idiot. Fighting would have broken out no matter _who_ was there to keep the peace. The same had been true in the case of the treaty between the Israelis and Palestinians back in 2012…only _now_ were the two cultures starting to get with the program.

The two ministers signed on the lines attributed to them, and Static let out a sigh of relief. No explosions yet, good. He hoped that once he returned to Dakota, it would stay that way. The last thing he or any other superhero needed was another all-out war. World War III was not something he wanted to look forward to. Iraq and the succeeding Battle of Tehran were bad enough: both Wonder Woman and Superman almost lost their lives to that skirmish.

Static held back on a sigh and tried his best to look happy for the situation. He gave a small smile as the two ministers shook hands, then turned to shake hands with the heroes. The South Korean minister had a good grip for someone so small. The man looked up into Static's masked face and grinned.

"My country thanks you for your presence," he said in well-annunciated English. Static couldn't help but smile at the man.

"Sir, it was a pleasure to be here to witness History."

* * *

"'_It was a pleasure to be here to witness History'_?" Gear mocked him later. "What the hell was that?"

Static started up the Javelin, a sour expression on his face. He plopped down into the pilot's seat as his partner took up the co-pilot's position, flipping on a few switches to start up the engines. Static said crossly, "I had to say _something_."

"C'mon, V…You could've at least come up with something a little more this century!"

"Rich, I don't want to talk about it, alright?" he said, massaging his temples. He sighed raggedly. "How long have we been in the Justice League?"

"Since we were 18," Gear answered. "So a little under fifteen years."

"Right—how many _fucking_ years do we have to wait until they treat us like ADULTS? We're in our 30's and Superman STILL sends us on these bull-shit missions!"

"Static, Static…" Gear tried calming him down. He got up out of the copilot's seat and began to massage his shoulders. "Easy…take a couple deep breaths, and take it easy…" By now, Gear was used to his partner going off like this. This behavior worried him, however: he could never remember Virgil ever taking things this seriously. Only in recent years had the dark man been exhibiting odd habits…

"I…I'm sorry, man…I just… Remember when we were in college, and we felt like the world was just spinning out of control and we could do nothing about it?"

"Virgil," Gear said, taking off his helmet, "I thought I told you not to worry about that."

"Rich, we're in the Justice League…"

"Exactly," the blond man said, sitting back down. "Our job is to keep the world _safe_, not police it. I know Clark has his heart in the right place, but what he doesn't realize is that—alien or not—he's just one man. If he takes this 'saving the whole world from destroying itself' too far…well, it's just like what Bruce and J'onn were saying the other day: 'Something's got to give'."

"So you're saying we should just let the world governments take care of everything?" Virgil scoffed. Within a few short moments, he had the jet airborne, and soon flying over the Pacific. Richie had been silent for the few minutes it took to take off.

"I hope you're not saying what I think you're saying," Richie said, a hard edge in his voice.

"What do you think I'm saying?" Virgil asked, catching the hard edge…and not liking it either.

"I think you're saying that those Men…" he stated with a capital "M", "Are weak, and yet if we didn't have these powers that were _given to us_ by weak Men just like _them_…we'd be just that: ordinary people. You and I both know we are _nothing_ without these powers, and we owe our livelihoods to the Big Bang, whether we want to admit it or not. We're Bang Babies, Virgil; we're FREAKS."

"Rich…"

"And just because we have these powers does NOT give us the right to push the normal people around!" Richie had finished his rant, but he still looked a bit steamed. Virgil knew what it was immediately.

"Been talking to Ollie again?" he asked, referring to the Green Arrow.

"And Bruce," Richie admitted.

Virgil shook his head; he'd known how Batman and Green Arrow felt about the way the League was run since he had joined. "Both of them don't like where the League is going."

"No shit."

Virgil sighed. "I hear Bruce even wants to back out: leave the League altogether. You don't think he would, do you?"

"Don't know," the blond man sighed, putting his glasses back on. "All I know is that if he goes, I'm going too."

"Why?" he asked, startled. "Why would you leave?"

"None of us are getting any respect anymore."

"That's because Clark is holding on to out-dated stereotypes."

"Oh yeah," Richie agreed, setting his jaw. "All-American…that's him. Racist, ultra-conservative, anti-immigration, total war hawk, sexist, and homophobic…"

"Rich!" Virgil stopped him. "This is _Superman_ you're talking about!"

"That's my point. Batman at least gives us the chance: why do you think Superman never gives us important jobs like saving an island nation from destruction by volcano? Or rescuing flood victims? Or helping feed a starving country?"

Virgil was silent for a minute, and then turned on the autopilot. He turned in his chair and faced Richie, taking off his white mask. "Rich, Clark is not a homophobe. He does care about us…"

"But he hates the fact that we're gay. Admit it, Virgil, you've been thinking the same things…"

"That's a whole other issue that we don't need to go into," he argued. "Look, even if Clark _doesn't_ respect us, we've got a lot of other heroes who do: Bruce, Jon and Shayera, J'Onn, Diana, Ollie and Kara…almost everyone else in the League. Why Clark Kent doesn't like us, I don't know. I don't care either. All I know is that to the people we work with…and especially the people we help every day of our lives—all of them are thankful to have us. Hell, Dakota wouldn't be one of the 'safest cities to live' if it weren't for us."

Richie smiled sardonically. "Yeah, I remember it used to be called 'Freak Central'."

"You see? We ARE respected…not everyone likes us, but they do respect us…"

"Like some of Batman's enemies: Joker sure respects _you_ now," Richie pointed out, a wicked smile on his face.

Virgil shared the same wicked grin, and quoted, "'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee…you can't touch what you can't see'."

* * *

The same quote was one that the smuggler lived by every day of his life. He lived his life by fitting into the crowd, never drawing attention to himself, wearing the same old trench coat, semi-formal camel-tan business slacks and green button-up shirt, the first two buttons undone—always—and dark brown leather shoes that he'd had for years, but still functioned. With his briefcase and cell phone, he looked like any other man in the business district of Dakota. He had slicked back his red hair that morning and trimmed his beard so that it was as close to his face as he could get without shaving it all off. Gray streaked his auburn hair, giving him a rather dignified look, but still retaining an unspoken edge, like a fire smoldering beneath the coals of a dying fire.

It was all in the appearance. It didn't matter what people said, looks matter—it can even be life or death. He rounded a corner and saw a vendor selling hot dogs and soft pretzels. Checking his watch, the red-haired man walked up to the vendor and asked, "Excuse me; I'm looking for 217 Monroe Avenue. Where is that?"

The vendor only pointed over his shoulder at a glass-plated high-rise, stretching up into the sky. The sun glinted off the tinted glass windows of the building, and the man shielded his eyes with his arm. "Thanks. Oh, and give me a dog with the works," he ordered, slapping a ten dollar bill in the vendor's hand. "And keep the change."

Four minutes later, the red-haired man had crossed the street to the building, shoving the last of his lunch into his mouth, licking relish, ketchup and mustard off his fingers as he boarded an elevator. He ascended up the elevator shaft, until finally he reached the penthouse. He exited the elevator, briefcase still in hand, and he checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes early; he patted himself on the back.

The receptionist behind the desk greeted him with a lukewarm disposition. She bade him to sit down on a couch to wait for her boss to return from a business meeting. The red-haired man said nothing, but resigned himself to sitting on the fake-leather couch, staring idly at a year-old issue of _National Geographic_. _What is this, a doctor's office?_ he asked himself.

Finally, the blonde receptionist waved him over and opened the door for him. The man walked into the spacious office, surrounded by pieces of fine art, and expensive collectables. To his immediate right sitting on a pedestal was a fine example of Tang Dynasty pottery, to his left, a full-size terra-cotta warrior. This dealer he was seeing was obsessed with ancient artifacts. Too bad for him, all of the things in this office were fakes.

The man sitting behind the large black-lacquered desk had his feet propped up and was leaning back in a chair of black Italian leather. He had dark hair, also streaked with grey, and his face reminded the red-haired smuggler of a rat's face…minus the whiskers. Even the dark-haired man's nose twitched every so often.

The businessman stood and opened his arms wide.

"Jack Stone! Well, isn't this a welcome surprise!"

"Marty Fisher," Jack said, trying his best to disguise his disgust for the man who was now shaking his hand with a limp wrist. Jack's grip, however, was stronger, and almost crushed the smaller man's hand. Jack Stone stood a good six-foot four, towering over the smaller five-foot seven man before him, the taller man's translucent green eyes flashing dangerously like a tiger's before pouncing on his prey.

"Well Marty, looks like you got yourself quite a collection here," he said, his voice strong and sturdy. "All Tang Dynasty I take it?"

"Just got them in this week," Marty said joyfully, a grin on his face like he had just opened up the Ultimate Christmas present. Jack wondered if he should bother even telling Marty that the dealer he'd bought the goods from always fabricated. Everything in the office was fake: the oldest piece had to be about two weeks old. But one look at Marty and Jack made his decision. It wouldn't make any difference.

"Listen, Marty," he started.

"You want some coffee?" the small man interrupted. Jack waved him off. "No, no, I'm fine…But Marty, listen…"

"You sure?"

"MARTY!" Jack shouted. Marty cringed at the other man's outburst.

"What's gotten into you, Jack? You're never in this kind of mood."

"I need to know what came into the docks last night, pier number 8, at 11:30 pm."

Marty Fisher looked surprised, and gaped at him like the catch of the day. "Y-you what? How did you know…" Marty stopped himself and sighed dejectedly. "Why do I bother? You _always_ know…you've got the best judgment of any person I know. Fine, is that why you came all the way to Dakota? To find out about a shipment that may not even interest you?"

"You'd be surprised what interests me," he said cryptically. Marty detected a hard edge in the man's voice, but did his best to hide his fear. He sighed, straightened his tie and said,

"It was just some chemicals, nothing to worry about."

"Bull shit—it was Bang gas."

Marty stopped dead, his jaw refusing to work. His eyes had grown as wide as dinner plates, the pupils tightening like the proverbial noose around his neck.

"J-Jack, I know what this looks like…"

Jack grabbed a handful of Marty's shirt and slammed the smaller man up against the wall with very little visible effort. The red-haired man snarled like a rabid wolf, his green eyes burning hellfire.

"What the fuck are you doing with a deal from Donovan Holmes? How much are they paying you?"

"N-nothing! I swear!"

"Alright, then what's Alva paying you? Huh? How much is that little bastard paying you to keep your mouth shut?"

"J-Jack…I swear…put me down!"

Jack was able to reign in his temper, albeit with some inward effort, and slowly released Marty with a calm neither man knew he possessed. That's when Jack grew very quiet—unnervingly so—then suddenly turned to walk out the door.

"As far as I'm concerned, Marty," Jack said quietly over his shoulder, not bothering to stop and look back, "my business with you is over."

He marched out of the office and stopped at the receptionist's desk. He reached into his trench coat pocket for a box of cigarettes, and then frowned. "Excuse me; Miss, would you mind going to get me a pack of cigarettes? There should be some in the lobby."

She looked up, and then nodded at the strange request, but left without saying a word. A minute after she had left down the elevator, Jack headed for the stairs. He rushed down them, jumping whole flights at times until he reached the ground floor.

He'd left his briefcase up in Marty's office. Jack took out a pair of sunglasses and put them over his eyes before walking out into the lobby of the building, then out into the street. He crossed the street again, pulling out a cigarette out of the full box in his pocket. He took out a lighter and lit it, taking a long drag as the penthouse office high above the street erupted into a terrific explosion.

Not even bothering to look back, Jack puffed on the cigarette nonchalantly, and calmly walked down the street of Dakota's business district as pedestrians and citizens all screamed and cried in shock and alarm at the "terrorist attack" on the Tyna Corp Building…

He pulled out his cell and dialed four. He waited as the speed dial connected him. A young male voice answered,

"_Hello?"_

"It's Jack. I delivered the package…"

"_Good. I'll see you in a few..."

* * *

_

Francis watched the news that night, which in and of itself was an event; he normally hated watching the news, but Virgil lived for it. It was a routine in their house: they were all home by 5:30, prepared dinner, ate at six while watching the news, then at 7 they turned on _Jeopardy!_ and had a contest of who got the most questions right. But tonight was a different story. He had originally turned on the news to see his men on the TV. That thought alone made him proud.

The explosion in the business district was a shocker, but strangely it didn't affect him the way it was affecting other people. He ate his rough meal of cheese quesadillas and microwave beef enchiladas robotically, his eyes glued to the television screen. The phone on the wall rang, and he got up to answer it, his green eyes still on the news. He swallowed the food he had been chewing and answered, "Francis here."

"_Yo, Red, it's Ivan."_

Francis glared at the phone as if it were a person. "What the hell…? Dude, why are _you_ calling me?"

"_Natasha wants to see you, she said it was important, and that it has something to do with the explosion at the Tyna Corp building this morning."_

Francis narrowed his eyes suspiciously. This didn't sit well with him. "I'm in the middle of dinner, but I'll call you when I'm on my way."

"_Thanks. Peace."_

"Peace."

He hung up and shook his head. Most people didn't even say "good-bye" anymore; everyone was always saying "peace". Well, considering he had grown up in a violent world, that shouldn't have surprised him that people wanted peace on their minds all the time.

The second he sat down again, the phone rang again. He groaned. "For the love of…"

He answered it again. "Francis here."

"_And Richie _here_."_

Francis grinned. "Hey! I didn't expect to hear from you guys. How's it going?"

He could tell Richie was smiling on the other end, but the blond sounded tired. _"Oh you know, same old. Are you watching the news?"_

He smiled proudly. That was _his_ man at that event! "Yeah, they did a couple seconds on the Korean Summit meeting."

"_What? Only a few seconds?"_

"Yeah," he said, frowning, leaning against the counter, still watching the action on the television screen. "There was an explosion in the business district this morning, around noon-ish."

"_An explosion? How come we didn't hear about that?"_ Virgil's voice flitting in from the background. Francis spoke louder so that both of them could hear him.

"They're blaming it on a gas leak. But all three of us know what a shoddy job they did building that thing."

"_Yeah,"_ Richie said, _"the engineers weren't very careful with the construction of it. The infrastructure…"_

Francis had to cut him off. If he didn't, Richie would just go on and on… "Well, it doesn't matter now. They're thinking that since the damage was so bad in the penthouse office…I think the only fatality was some Marty Fisher…"

"_Who?"_ Virgil asked.

"_Wait,"_ Richie said. _"Wasn't that…wasn't that the name of Miles Fisher's dad?"_

Francis finally realized. "Now that you mention it, yeah, it was. Wow, small world… Oh! Speaking of, when are you guys coming back?"

Richie sighed; that was never a good sign. _"It looks like we'll be stuck at the office for another day or so."_

"God dammit," Francis swore.

"_We know, man,"_ Virgil said. _"We miss you too."_

"You guys have been gone for almost two weeks!" he groaned. "They can't do this to you!"

"_Well, apparently, they are. Francis,"_ Richie said calmly. _"We'll try and wrap things up here as soon as we can."_

"Tell you what, man," Virgil said. "We'll be back home by dinner tomorrow night, then we can go out and celebrate!"

Francis grinned. "Sounds good to me. I love you guys."

"_We love you too,"_ Richie and Virgil chorused. _"See you at dinner!"_

Francis hung up and returned to his dinner, chewing thoughtfully. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a good day after all.

* * *

"I am glad you decided to come over," Natasha said as Francis entered the room. She sat in her bed, propped up by pillows, her long black hair slung over one shoulder. Her sightless ice blue eyes stared in the direction of the door when Francis entered, throwing off his jacket and pulling up a chair next to her bed.

It had only taken a short ten-minute bus ride to get to the Dakota School for the Gifted. The "School" was really more of a boarding house, or rather, it was closer to an orphanage, run by Ivan and Natasha Evans. After the downfall of the Dakota Destroyer, aka Miles Fisher, the couple had opened up the school to house the Neo Breed, the next generation of bang babies, produced after the second big bang when Francis was seventeen.

Shortly after that was a period of three months that Francis wished he could forget, the period of time in which he met most of the Neo Breed…and Natasha.

He sat down next to the bed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"You must understand, this is something I cannot tell my husband…for him to know would be disastrous."

"I know." Of course he knew. He'd kept this from Virgil and Richie for the longest time. How could he tell them? They would never have understood. "So this is about the experiments they did on us?"

She nodded sadly. "You and I were different from the others: we were _born_ this way, only we never properly tapped into these powers until much later in our lives. I myself went blind as a result of what Fisher did to us."

"Not that it's an issue now," he pointed out. "You don't need sight like other people do."

"You've been thinking about it too, haven't you?" she got right to the chase.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean getting rid of it."

He lapsed into silence. True, he had thought about it. It would have made life so much easier for him. Getting rid of his powers would have made all the difference… "I _have_ thought about it, yeah. But remember what the doctors said?"

"Ah yes…without the release, you could succumb to the internal fire and expire. In your case, there might not be much of a choice."

"I haven't used my powers for anything besides cooking at home and welding at work. For the past five years, I haven't used my powers for fighting. Not since Fisher…"

"I commend you on not killing him," she said calmly. "The others he treated would not have given him the same respect."

"No, I bet Tobias and Claire would have tortured him a little: they're the type that would do that."

"No, you're wrong. Tobias was too gentle. Claire, possibly…she's vengeful enough."

He ran a hand through his flame-colored hair. "God, I haven't talked about them in ages. I wonder what happened to them."

"I have my suspicions," she said cryptically. He looked up at her sharply, a strange look in his eyes.

"You seen them," he stated. "In your visions."

She didn't move, or say anything, or even allude to anything.

"Natasha…Serendipity," he said imploringly. "You gotta tell me. You didn't have Ivan call me for nothing."

When she finally spoke, her abruptness startled him. "Do you remember Donovan Holmes?"

The name made the blood in his veins turn to ice. He gasped, "Jesus Christ…"

"I'll take that as a yes…"

"Why the fuck are you asking about HIM?" he hissed, panic in his tone.

"He was in my vision. And the explosion at the office of Marty Fisher only confirms my suspicions. I believe that Donovan is still trying to stage another Big Bang."

"Why? what the hell does he have to gain?"

"Money, Francis. Money, and power. That's all he's ever cared about. He provided all the equipment to Miles when he did his experiments on us. I think Donovan's returned."

"When what do you expect me to do?" he said angrily. "I can't just take this into my own hands. I hope you can forgive me, but I'm not going on some wild goose chase just because of one single vision!"

"That explosion this morning…it was a terrorist act."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Marty was known for illegal trade…"

"So it was just a deal gone wrong," he reasoned. "One less fat pig to worry about."

"That's not the case. I have a bad feeling in my bones Francis, this will not end well for us."

Those words sent a chill down his spine. "What do you mean?"

She turned her lovely face towards him, those ice blue eyes fixing him to his place. They were haunting in their intensity. "I mean…our fight is not yet over. And neither is static's."

"I don't want to drag either of them into this. This is not their battle."

"Battle? Oh no, Francis…" she shook her head slowly. "This is War."

* * *

There, finally got it done. Again, if you have NOT read _Courage Under Fire_, you will NOT get this. Go back and reread if you need a refresher. Don't forget to read and review this, either. Constructive Criticism is greatly appreciated. 


	3. Chapter 3

Trial By Fire

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own the boys. Any characters you recognize from the show don't belong to me. Ergo, Natasha, Jack, Tobias, Claire and Jane (you'll meet the latter two later on) and the Neo Breed all belong to me. Compredez-vous?

* * *

Francis took up as much of the king-size bed as possible, a futile effort he'd made over the past two weeks to give him the feeling he had become so used to: sleeping in the same bed with two other men. He lay on his back spread-eagled, the top sheet wrapped tightly around his waist. He dozed, his chest rising and falling softly as he breathed deeply, meditatively.

His eyes shot open when he felt someone kiss his cheek. Richie and Virgil stood over the bed, grinning ear to ear. Richie was the first to say, "Miss us?"

"Are you KIDDING?" Francis whooped and jumped out of bed, hugging them both, sharing kisses between them. Overjoyed, he continued, "But I thought you guys weren't supposed to be here until later?"

"We skipped out early," Virgil stated with a wink, "let the underlings take care of business for once."

"You're evil, you know that?"

Richie smiled innocently. "Who, us?"

Francis shook his head, still smiling. "Whatever…hey, have you guys gotten breakfast yet?"

"Naw, man," Virgil said, throwing his suitcase and jacket onto the bed. "We were gonna see if you'd gone into work today…and luckily you didn't."

Francis caught it. "I know that look."

"What look?" the darker man asked innocently.

"Virgil, what are you plotting?"

"Me? _Plot_? Why, whatever gives you that impression my dear Francis?"

The flame-haired man threw his hands up in the air in defeat. "Fine, don't tell me…"

"Okay," Richie agreed, "We won't."

"Smart ass."

"You know you like it…" the blonde man teased. Francis took the opportunity to place a well-aimed slap on Richie's ass.

"You're _damn_ right I do!"

"You know what?" Virgil joked. "_Both_ of you are going the right way for a smacked ass."

"Oh we hope so," Richie grinned.

Virgil laughed, "I love being me."

* * *

"Are you two alright?" Francis asked as he munched on his bagel. "You're really quiet."

Richie took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His plate, with the exception of the bacon, and a few scraps of scrambled eggs and toast crumbs, was empty. The blond man sighed and put his glasses back on, saying, "Clark's been dumping more work on me lately. And the fact I have him dogging my every step at the League headquarters on top of my work at the university doesn't help matters either."

"So tell him you've got your real job to worry about," the redhead said, tearing off another piece of bagel with his teeth. He said through the food in his mouth, "You know, the one that you get paid to do."

Virgil was leaning against the counter drinking a glass of orange juice, his plate already on the countertop. "If only it were that easy. I mean, Rich does have Bruce and Gizmo helping out, but they've got their own territories, and lately Bruce hasn't been around much…"

"Yeah, I heard that Gotham's crime rate has started soaring." Francis held back on saying what he knew they were thinking. Richie said firmly to him, "I can see the gears turning, Hotshot. What's up?"

He hesitated. "Don't…don't you think he's getting, you know, getting a little old for his job?"

"Who, Bruce?" Virgil asked, setting the empty glass down. "Maybe. He's been complaining about stress…"

"Since when does Bats complain about _anything_?" Francis quarreled.

"Frank," Richie said softly. "I think it's his heart."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's been bothering him lately. Diana even said that he'd mentioned something about it in passing. It worried her, so she told him to see a doctor about it."

"And he went?"

"You know how he feels about her," Richie pointed out.

"But still…does anyone else know about it?"

Virgil took up the empty plates in front of the other two men and started working on the dishes. "To our knowledge, no, but since he's such a private person, I don't think anyone but Diana, his doctor and the three of us will ever know about it."

"So Superman hasn't said anything to him?"

Richie snorted. "Bruce has threatened to leave the League. So has Ollie and Kara."

"Yeah, he mentioned that when he stopped by last week…" Francis stopped himself. "Aw shit."

"Wait, what?" Virgil asked, turning around to turn off the water. "Who stopped by?"

"Bats did," Francis confessed. "Said he wanted to make sure that I was keeping out of trouble."

"Why would he do that?" Richie asked indignantly. "Bruce knows that you've haven't had any brushes with the law since you got out of prison."

Francis shrugged, and took a swig of coffee. "It was probably a 'I was in the neighborhood' kinda visit."

"Now that doesn't make any sense," Virgil retorted. "Bruce knows that this isn't his territory, and normally he only comes here if he knows we need his help, or if he's looking into something for a case in Gotham."

Francis shrugged again. "Hey, like you said, he's a pretty private person…"

The phone rang and Francis jumped up to answer; Richie shared a confused look with Virgil. Since when was Francis so eager to answer the damn phone? He usually laid around and let it ring for awhile until he was sure no one else would answer it.

The flame-haired man answered casually, "Hello? Oh hey…yeah, they're back." Pause. "No, they got in a couple hours ago. Why?" Pause. "Really? Huh, well, I'm sure he'll get over it."

Richie mouthed, _"What is this about?"_

Virgil only shrugged.

Francis frowned. "No, can't make it tonight. Listen, I'll call you later, okay, man? Sure…yeah, thanks. Later." He hung up and turned back to look at them…and their accusing glances. "What?"

"Who was that?" Virgil asked mildly, his face an expressionless mask.

"One of the guys from work…Don't look at me like that. He invited me out with the guys for a couple beers the other night. He's straight, and married…"

"Ever heard of 'keeping it on the down-low'?" Virgil asked harshly. Francis finally realized where this was going.

"Y-You think I'm _cheating_?" his voice was shaking and rising dangerously. "You think I'd stoop that _low_!"

"Francis, calm down…" Richie said softly. "Let's just talk…"

"There's _nothing_ to fucking _discuss_!" he yelled. "Just because you're gone for two weeks doesn't mean I'm going to fuck the next pretty face I see!"

"Listen…" Virgil started.

"Why bother?" the redhead argued, grabbing his wallet and keys. "I'm going out."

Not five seconds later he was out the door, slamming it behind him, and they heard his motorcycle roar to life and ride off down the street. the two men stood mutely in the kitchen staring at the closed door with slack-jawed awe.

* * *

Jack listened to the news on the car radio of the dark blue stolen Dodge Stratus idly, sipping on a latte, his only indulgence he'd allowed himself since returning to Dakota over a week ago. The Stratus had been sitting in a parking garage, windows down, and unlocked. He almost screamed at the audacity and the idiocy of the original owner. Hotwiring the car was easy enough—to be honest, he was surprised such a car was still functional. People rarely used fossil fuels anymore. Everything was hydrogen powered or solar powered. New York City itself had been running on solar energy for five years, and was still the brightest star on the Atlantic seaboard.

So why did he steal the car?

Two reasons: one, the police wouldn't be too worried about a piece-of-shit car from the late 1990s that still ran on fossil fuels: the thing was guaranteed junk anyway. That, and Tobias could probably find some use for it.

Jack drove out of the city and out into the surrounding areas. Suburbs had popped up there since he'd last been there…had it really been twenty years? no, twenty five, at least. He cursed, Damn a lot of things changed.

Some things remained the same though. Such as that old gas station just on the outskirts of Dakota city limits, where the gas pumps themselves had to have dated back to the 1950's or 60's. The thing was ancient, and probably deserved to remain as a historical landmark. Jack snorted. Not bloody likely.

The antique gas station still had the garage connected to it, and Jack pulled over, put the car in park, and got out to open the garage door manually. One of the windows was already broken in; he just needed to reach up and grab the emergency wire to open the door. The door gave way and it opened with a loud screeching sound. Jack winced, he was lucky he was in the middle of nowhere, otherwise he'd be making a scene. But, it was a security measure Tobias liked to keep, because he liked to know when people were coming and going in his shop.

Jack drove the car inside, put it in park and turned it off. After he got out, he closed the garage door behind him. A breaker box sat on the wall right next to the passenger side door of the car and Jack went over and opened it. Instead of the typical breaker switches, a high-tech security checkpoint was installed in its place, complete with retina scan and fingerprint scan. Jakc placed his hand on the touch-tone screen and waited as the robotic eye scanned his retina. Two seconds later, the screen properly identified him as a comrade and a hydraulic trapdoor slid open on the floor to his left.

Jack climbed down the step ladder in the narrow opening and paused until the hydraulic door closed overhead before continuing the rest of the way down. Forty feet below the surface of the earth, he finally touched down on a metal gangway, his shoes making a small clanging noise. He passed through an open doorway onto another gangway, overlooking a massive lab.

The subterranean laboratory was huge, four stories high, and about the size of a city block, the walls and floor solid concrete, about two feet thick and reinforced with lead and a layer of titanium. It was a colossal project, but since this lab's main scientist had been working on it since he was sixteen, it hadn't been that difficult. One wall was lined with computers and plasma screens showing CGI images of DNA strands and live feed of living cells morphing and going through various stages of mitosis.

Jack walked over to the spiral stairway, also metal, like everything else in the lab, and descended slowly. He dreaded the thought of having to re-climb those stairs and that forty-foot ladder. But once he reached the bottom, he strolled over to the center of the lab, where one figure was bent over a microscope.

Jack hailed him, "Toby, its me."

The scientist looked up from his microscope. Tobias Peterson was ordinary enough to look at by most accounts, with his longish brown hair tied at the back of his head and his hazel eyes making him look normal, like any other person. But those hazel eyes held an inquisitiveness and a searching nature that made the young man a perfect scientist…and a perfect spy. Rectangle-framed glasses were perched in front of his eyes and he smiled a small cat-like grin at Jack.

"Tired?" he mocked.

"Of all the doodads and high-tech equipment in this damn lab," Jack huffed. "You never thought to put in an _elevator_?"

"Too risky," he shrugged. "Besides, you know how most people if they see that they have to exert themselves, they won't. If I installed an elevator, we'd have everyone and their mother coming down here to poke into my research. Face it Jack, people just don't exercise anymore." He returned to looking into his microscope, a pad of paper by his side and a pencil in his hand. "And doctors wonder why so many people are overweight in this country…" he said, continuing his last thought.

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Jack cornered him.

"Perish the thought," Tobias teased. "Besides, you're way too active. You're how old?"

"Watch it, punk."

"Old _enough_, gotcha…but you're in exceptional shape for a man your age. Most men by their 60's are ready to retire. It's a wonder you haven't already."

Jack started to unload his equipment from his pockets and holsters: two magnums and silencers, cartridges, wire cutters, and various other things he'd used to make that bomb. Tobias eyed the wire cutters. "That reminds me…think you used enough nitroglycerin in that bomb?"

The older man cocked an eyebrow, and an attitude. "_You_ gave it to me, _you_ knew how much I'd use."

"I only gave you what you _needed_. And you only needed about a _quarter_ of what you used."

Jack waved him off and pulled up a roll-away chair and sat at the counter next to him. "What are you so concerned about? Marty's dead, and the 6 o' clock news is calling it a terrorist attack."

"Right, because Al-Qaeda just can't _wait_ to get their hands on an imitation Ming vase…" Tobias said deprecatingly.

"They were also saying that too: if there was anyone in Dakota who _didn't_ know that he was into illegal trading, they know it now."

"Pretty lucky for us, so maybe the police will figure, 'One less scumbag to worry about'," Tobias said, making a quick sketch on his pad of paper. He had a steady and serious focus, always on top of the task, well-rounded and a grounded individual. Most scientists, after discovering what he had, would have screamed out their findings from the mountaintops.

Not Tobias. For one thing, he had never been to college: everything was self-taught; in fact, along the northern wall was a huge bookcase of all the books he'd ever read, and a few he had to get around to reading. But one shelf, or rather one filing cabinet, contained all of his findings.

He was a geneticist. He was fascinated by the human genome, and sought to uncover the mystery himself. It was complex, but at the same time, still breathtaking, like a Monet painting, or pointillism; so many underlying layers to it, and something so small and seemingly insignificant was the backbone, nay, the very essence of humanity. Every human, in his eyes, was a work of art, a painting, or rather a tapestry, where every thread was issued a letter A,T, C or G. It fascinated him beyond any other branch of science.

But what fascinated him most, was the more…controversial side of genetics.

He presented his sketch to jack. "Guess what that is," he said, a smug grin on his face. Jack looked down at the meticulous drawing, worthy of any fine art academy (he often wondered why Tobias was a scientist when he could have been such a good artist), and he felt his brain melt.

"No idea."

"That, dear Jacob Francis Stone," Tobias said triumphantly, "is the controversial Human 'Gay Gene'."

Jack was floored. "Are you serious?"

Tobias gave him a no-nonsense look. "Jack, I was able to pinpoint the Depression Gene three years before 'They' actually announced the findings to the scientific world. _What_ makes _you_ think I'm making this shit up?"

"Its just…"

"What? You _never_ stopped to think that our behavior is linked to our _genes_?" he asked incredulously. "Honestly, Jack, even the most _primitive_ scientist can attest to that."

"Sorry for only having an 11th-grade education, smart ass," the red-haired man said sourly.

"Yes, I am, and yes, you do. Not that you needed that education anyway. I applaud you for saying 'When the fuck am I ever going to use this shit in the real world' and then bailed out before they could fully corrupt you."

"It was all a part of their diabolical plot."

"Just like the US Government is hiding Elvis and the Tooth Fairy at Area 51, right Jack?"

"Shut up."

Tobias chuckled. Jack stared at him. "Did you isolate it yet?" Tobias didn't need to ask what "it" was.

"Working on it right now," the brown-haired scientist said, pointing at the machines along the wall. "The computers will print out the findings when they're done going through the cycles."

"What've you got so far?"

"About the metahumans? Only the basic information you…ahem, 'acquired' from the Alva Corp labs a few years back. Everything else…well, it's difficult for me to explain it to someone who's not on my intellectual level…no offense."

"None taken—just dumb it down for me the best you can."

Tobias sighed and pushed back on the counter, his chair rolling him backwards, stopping in front of a computer terminal and printer. The scientist opened a folder and printed the document, skimming it, then beginning.

"Its difficult for me to assess _all_ the information, because there are so many unanswered questions here. Too many loopholes. But what I can gather is that the Bang Gas as they call it, has high mutagenic properties…alarmingly high."

"We knew that already," Jack said.

"I'm getting to my point, be patient," Tobias scolded. "The issue I have is that the Bang Gas was originally intended as a Biochemical weapon. I bet you, too, that the AIDS virus was developed in a lab…"

"But that's only speculation, right?"

"Jack, be serious. The Bang Gas, like the AIDS virus, is _too smart_…it is a _weapon of mass destruction_, something that got out of control. Just like the influx of Bang Babies around the turn of the 21st century here in Dakota. I believe the 'Big Bang' happened in late 1999, early 2000, if you can correct me…"

"It was late 2000, I think."

"Alright, so the Big Bang occurred, and, consequently, there was a gang battle going on where one way or another, the gas canisters were blown open, exploded, and infected the gang members. I have a theory about that, but I'm sure you'll fill me in when you get the facts to prove it. But, the long and short of it is that it happened, and quite a few gang-bangers died that night, as a direct result of an allergic reaction to _something_ in the gas itself. If only I could get my hands on a sample of it to analyze…"

"I can go grab some tonight."

Tobias shook his head. "That isn't _just_ foolhardy—that's _insanity_. With the explosion in the business district this morning, Alva Corp will be on high alert, and you know it."

"But that gas may not be there tomorrow night."

"I know that. That's why I'll be sending out either Claire or Jane."

"Send out Jane, she's got a better head on her shoulders."

"Good point. And given her acquired powers, the gas may not affect her like it would affect us."

Jack studied the young man's face for a moment. "That's not all that's bothering you, is there?"

"For another time, Jack. Another time…" Tobias stood and walked over to another terminal, taking the read-out with him.

* * *

Whew, finally got that out. Yes,I will be expecting a lot of questions from this chapter, but all will be explained by the nexy chapter, then things will really start to heat up (no pun intended). For this fic, I wanted to focus more on the genetic make-up of the metahumans, as well as the chemistry involved in the Big Bang gas...so expect a lot of scientific jargon, from an English major. so if i make any mistakes as far as explaining basic genetics or chemistry, please don't hesistate to correct me. That is all. And don't forget to Read and Review! 


	4. Chapter 4

Trial By Fire

Chapter 4

A/N: Yes, yes, I know: _Holy Crap, she UPDATED_! Dear God, school's been jutting into my fanfiction-writing time. As always, school has to come first for me, at least if I want to go to grad school. For now, please bear with me and put up with my sporadic updates. Go me for updating two stories in one day. W00t!

Disclaimer: Ah yes, the thing with the saying of the not owning of the things with the swings and gayness and the pretty men who are the blowing up of stuff and junk and junk and stuff and the hey. Translation: I do not own Static Shock. Any character you do not recognize from the show is my own Original Character and is not to be used without my permission. This is NOT being made for profit, only for entertainment. Got it, punks? ;)

* * *

Francis was parked outside the main gates and looked up forlornly at the house on the hill. Well, it wasn't necessarily a house so much as a mansion. He didn't know why he even bothered to cross state lines to get here, when he could have just called. But he reasoned that perhaps calling would not have been a very smart thing to do considering the nature of what that call would be.

He sighed and pressed the call button outside the gate. "It's Francis. Can you let me in?" he stated before the other line answered him. A moment later, the gates creaked open automatically, and he started his motorcycle up and rode up the long driveway to the top of the hill. He didn't bother to slow down and take in the scenery of Wayne Manor in the height of summer: he'd been there enough times over the course of the past few days prior to Virgil and Richie coming back.

He hated keeping something like this from them, but he was sure they wouldn't understand why he was doing this. He wasn't cheating; he couldn't believe that that was the first thing that came to Virgil's mind. Francis hadn't so much as looked at other guys since he moved in with Richie and Virgil. He was happy with them, and until that morning, he thought they were happy with him too. So much for that, he thought. But now I've got bigger things to worry about.

He stopped his bike just outside the front door, turning it off. As soon as he took off his helmet, the doors opened and an elderly man dressed in a black suit and tie stood there waiting patiently.

"Back so soon, Master Stone?"

"Hey Alfred," he greeted. "Is Mr. Wayne here?"

"He's in his study," the manservant replied, and Francis knew what he meant by "his study". Alfred invited him inside and seated him in the spacious den, with the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the front grounds. Francis stared out the windows idly as Alfred came out with a silver serving tray.

"It's almost lunchtime," he said. "Perhaps I can interest you in something to eat?"

"No thanks," Francis said. "I'm not feeling too hungry. Thanks though." He didn't bother to turn and look as the grandfather clock along the wall behind him slid open to reveal the dark passage leading to the cavern below the estate.

Bruce Wayne paused in the doorway at the sight of the flame-haired man, then sighed and walked over, sitting on the couch adjacent to the meta-human. Even after their somewhat-truce a couple years before, Bruce still felt as uneasy around him as the meta-human was around _him_. The dark-haired, pale-eyed multi-millionaire sat back in his chair and stared levelly at him.

Francis hated that gaze: it gave him the creeps. Those ice-blue eyes seemed to pierce his soul, just as the glare of the man in the mask. Though in his fifties, Bruce—and Batman—still retained the silent power of the Dark Knight, the Caped Crusader…and by far the scariest person the meta-human had ever met.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce asked.

"What, no 'how are you doing'?" Francis quipped. One look from the older man told Francis that this was no time to be a smart-ass. The flame-haired man sighed and sank down into his seat. "I had a fight with Virgil after you called. He thought I was cheating on him and Richie."

"Why didn't you tell them the truth?" Bruce asked, his deep gravelly voice still holding the power and awe, and strength, beneath what many would have said was a weakening and aging exterior. Francis now knew why Richie was so worried about him: The Batman did look older, his dark hair now slowly being streaked with gray.

Francis averted his eyes nervously, a flash of guilt on his features. "I can't tell them about this. If they knew, they'd try to stop it."

"Why don't you want your powers anymore?"

"What is this, an interrogation?" he asked impatiently. "Besides, I've given you my answer already. You know why."

"But are you still sure you want to do this? Don't forget the time we talked in the sick bay back at the Watchtower."

"I don't; its kinda hard to forget something like that," Francis admitted. "But I'm still wondering why you're helping me."

"I have my own reasons."

"Then I'd like to know them," the meta-human said angrily, leaning forward in his seat and glaring at the older man. "I hate being left in the dark, and I can't stand you being so cryptic and inhibited all the time, even if that is in your character."

"You've been using that Word-a-Day calendar Richie gave you for Christmas, haven't you?" Bruce asked, a ghost of a grin on his face.

"Smart-ass."

Bruce chuckled so quietly, Francis was sure he might have missed it under different circumstances.

"I did some research like you asked me to," the millionaire said, quickly changing the subject.

"On what?"

"On a man named Donovan Holmes…and your father, Jack Stone." Bruce saw the look of pure hatred cross the meta-human's face. Francis clenched his fists, which started to smoke as his rage increased. "I wouldn't burst into flames if I were you," Bruce warned. "This furniture is new."

Francis willed himself to relax, and the smoke disappeared as he calmed down. "Sorry…"

"It's alright. I suppose I'd feel a little angry if my father were a man who left his wife with a small child to raise by herself, and later abandoned his own son in favor of his job."

"I personally don't give two shits about my old man," Francis said with a dangerous edge in his voice. "If he turned up dead with two bullet holes in his head, I wouldn't cry over it."

"You don't even know if he left you voluntarily."

"Yeah, but apparently his job means more to him than his family did," Francis seethed. "But I don't want to talk about him. What did you find on Donovan?"

Bruce sighed; he knew that sooner or later, Hotstreak would have to come to terms about his father. But for now, the Dark Knight would just deal with the redhead's fiery temper…as he always had.

"Come downstairs. I have his file open on my computer."

Francis followed him quietly through the door behind the grandfather clock down into the Bat Cave itself, descending the long stairway to the main platform where the massive computer stood against the tall cave wall, the screen bright enough to light the whole cave. A group of bats flew over his head, and the meta-human shivered a little. Bruce was wearing a black sweater which Francis assumed was because of the subterranean temperatures.

"You mind if I light up?"

"Are you cold?"

"A little."

"Then by all means. I could use a little more light down here."

"It's called _electricity_ and _lamps_, you know."

"Yes, but that would cost me a fortune on energy."

"Please, you have enough water running through these caves to start your own hydroelectric plant. Couldn't you harness _that_ so you don't have to pay energy bills?"

"I've thought of it." He left it there. Francis assumed that Bruce had more than enough on his mind _and_ his To-Do list than he wanted or even needed. But as he walked up to the computer, he stopped dead in his tracks as he looked up at the face on the computer screen.

A mug shot photo of Donovan Holmes, approximately 24 years old in the picture, which was dated May 1996, was displayed on the massive screen, the man before him smirking at the camera triumphantly, holding the numbered board before him as he took his frontal and profile shots. Donovan lived up to his name, at least so far in appearance. He was a dark man, with olive skin, dark eyes and black hair, always sporting a smirk on his handsome and chiseled face.

Francis could see Bruce's expression as he gazed up at the picture. "Ole Bats" hated guys who were full of themselves, and it seemed obvious that Donovan had a high opinion of himself.

"That him?" Francis inquired.

"Yes."

"Yeah, I remember him. He used to supply meta-gas to Miles Fisher. I think he charged a lot for it."

"Doesn't surprise me," the older man said, sitting in his chair, and tapping on the keys. He brought up Donovan's arrest record…which was surprisingly short. "He was charged with petty theft, a few assaults, and arrested on suspicion of murder, but was acquitted. Reports indicate that the courts knew he was a part of a large syndicate of criminals and smugglers, and was responsible for perhaps hundreds of murders, but no one has been able to pin them to him."

"I can't believe his last arrest was in 1996."

"Neither can I. I believe he's learned how to cover his tracks…quite well in fact."

"That son of a bitch…"

"Yet another person you want dead, I take it?" Bruce asked him with an emotionally-bereft tone.

"Would you care if I fried him worse than Kentucky chicken?" Francis asked, his hands bursting into flame.

Bruce didn't hesitate, despite his initial discomfort of those flames being so close to his face. "It gives me one less criminal to worry about."

"Good."

"So I'm assuming you're going to track him down?"

"I think he might be in Dakota. Did you hear about the explosion of Marty Fisher's office?"

"Yes, briefly. My research has turned up a lot of interesting facts about Mr. Fisher."

"I'll bet," Francis said wryly.

"I was planning to investigate it myself…"

"But…?" Francis didn't miss the hesitation in Bruce's voice. "Is it your heart?"

"How did you…Richie told you?"

"Yeah, he did. He and Virgil are worried about you, you know."

"It makes sense to me. They seem to think of me as family."

"At least their favorite uncle."

"And what is your opinion of me?" he asked curiously.

"You still scare the shit outta me."

"As it should be," Bruce said with an ironic smile.

"Hey."

"Yes?"

"Why do you want to leave the League?" Francis asked.

Bruce sighed raggedly. "Richie and Virgil were only home for two hours and _you_ know all of this?"

"You know them," Francis said with a roll of the eye. "Has Superman really been…?"

"Francis," Bruce started firmly. "Clark is only one drop in an ocean of issues. So is the heart. There are far to many factors contributing to this decision…"

"But once you leave, does that mean you'll never go back? No one will ever hear from you again?"

"You sound like this depresses you."

"It does! You mean a lot to a lot of people. Sure, a lot of them are scared shitless of you, but you're _Batman_…sure, you don't have any superpowers, but you're still the greatest superhero in the world."

Bruce stared levelly at him. "Are you feeling alright?"

Francis fumed. "_Asshole_! I'm giving you a compliment and you just brush it off like that!"

"Sorry, we normally don't have…'moments' like this," Bruce said with a sardonic tone.

Francis growled under his breath and leaned back against the computer console. "Yeah, well see if I ever compliment you agai—" he was cut off when an alarm sounded off.

Bruce, taken by surprise, tapped at a few keys and brought up a map on the computer screen. A little red blinking light worked its way down a maze of city streets, many of which Francis recognized quite well.

"That's Dakota," he said.

"And we need to get moving," Bruce replied, flying from his chair. Francis watched the man rush off into the shadows. "What's this 'we' you speak of? You're a solo act!"

A few moments later, Francis found himself staring into the black mask of the Dark Knight himself. "Not for long, it seems."

* * *

The warehouse was being watched through two pairs of binoculars that evening, when the setting sun set the sky afire in a brilliance of warm reds, oranges, and gold, a corona of rosy pink bordering the ever-encroaching star-studded navy blue mantle of night. The lights of Dakota came alive in a wash of bright-white brilliance, the city lighting up and sparkling like diamonds.

"Jane, will you focus?" the blonde woman said from the front passenger seat. She was dressed in dark clothing, a metal briefcase set on her lap. The black woman in the driver's seat, Jane, was a slim yet curvy woman with dark skin and straight black hair to her shoulders. She tore her gaze away from the sunset long enough to offer a serene smile to her partner in crime. "Come on, Claire, why can't you just enjoy what God gave us?"

"Because we've got bigger things to worry about," Claire said, still staring out the binoculars. Jane inched away from her in the driver's seat.

"Ooh…I hope He don't take you down with that thunderbolt of His. I don't want no static from you."

"But you still want Static anyway," Claire said with an even tone. Jane grinned. "Girl, you have no idea! Mm-mm-mm-mm-_MM_! Is that man FINE!"

"You know he's taken."

"Yeah, but he's still a cutie…"

"Shh! Look alive!" Claire alerted her. Jane picked up her binoculars as night settled over the city. Through the lenses, Jane could see movement around the perimeter of the warehouse.

"Guards?"

"Exactly. They're protecting something, and both of us know what that is," Claire said, with an air of finality.

Jane sighed through her nose. "But what if we're wrong?"

"Jane, that's the warehouse Jack saw the canisters go into. That is where the gas is, I'm sure of it."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Alright, go ahead and call it in to Toby."

Claire pulled out her cell phone and pressed the number 2 on speed dial. The other end rang once, and Tobias answered with three words: _"You got him?"_

"We got him."

* * *

Virgil was pacing, and it was driving Richie insane. "Will you just _call_ him and _apologize_?"

"Why should I?" Virgil asked stubbornly. Richie made a show of thinking, rubbing his chin and rolling his eyes skyward. "Hmm, could it be that you jumped to conclusions that you should not have jumped to?"

"Rich! How else would you explain the phone call? We were gone for two weeks…"

"_Virgil Ovid Hawkins_," Richie began. Virgil winced. Only two people were capable of getting away with using his middle name in that context: Sharon, and Richie. Oddly enough, both used the middle name when they were annoyed or angry with him.

Richie continued, "Has Francis _ever_ given us reason to believe he would be unfaithful?"

"Well…no," Virgil admitted. "But he shouldn't keep secrets from us…"

"Given his history—or at least what we know of it—I think he has every right to keep some things from us. I'm sure there are certain things _you_ wouldn't want him to know…" Richie glared at him.

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Richie grinned maliciously; Virgil knew he was fucked. "Like the fact you slept with your teddy bear until you were fourteen…"

"Rich! We agreed we wouldn't bring that up!"

"…Or that you used to brush your teeth with soda…"

"I was _eight_!"

"…And the time you pulled a girl's pigtails so hard you got detention for a month and were threatened with suspension…"

"The administration was like the Nazis of the school district! And besides, you're not immune either!"

"Yes, but I've been honest with Francis, at least. And he's been honest with me and you."

"When?"

"When he first moved in," the blond man reminded. "He told us there were certain things he thought we were better off not knowing about him… We have to respect his wishes."

"And _he_ has to respect that I want to know what the fuck is going on!"

Richie was growing increasingly irritated with Virgil's attitude. "What is _wrong_ with you? Why are you acting like a total asshole all of a sudden?"

"I don't know! I guess I don't like people keeping secrets from me."

"Just because you and I are open with each other doesn't mean _he_ is comfortable with it! Besides, I think his problems go deeper than we expected."

"How do you figure that?"

"He didn't exactly have a healthy relationship with any male role models, Virg…" Richie was quick to remind him. "Granted, I'm not one to talk, since me and my dad haven't spoken in two years… But the fact is, I think we need to respect that Francis is _not_ willing to share!"

"But he _should_! He knows he can trust us!"

"And what if he _doesn't_?" Richie asked angrily. A long silence preceded this proclamation, as both men thought about it, mulled over it, letting the idea sink in. Virgil's temper slowly dissipated, becoming increasingly worried.

"You…you think he doesn't trust us?"

"I…" Richie was at a loss for words. "I don't know. I don't know how the human mind works. I understand computers, Virgil. People, they're a different story."

"But why wouldn't he trust us?" Virgil asked, not really expecting an answer. He stopped pacing, pacing his hands on his hips as he thought, his gaze glued to the floor. "We've given him no reason not to."

"Maybe he's still holding on to the idea that we are the enemy. First impressions and all."

"He's thirty years old! You'd think he would give up that incorrect notion along time ago."

"'_Incorrect notion'_?" Richie echoed. "Virgil, what's with the sudden burst of vocabu…wait…you've been using that Word-A-Day calendar I gave you for Christmas, haven't you?"

"Richie…focus!"

Richie, tired of arguing, picked up the cordless phone and threw it at Virgil, who caught it with his static cling, the electricity pulsating lightly around the phone.

"Virgil," Richie said firmly. "Call him, and apologize. Tell him to come home."

Virgil paused, looking into the set face of his long-time lover, then sighed. The darker man punched in the number of Francis' cell and hoped to God that their flame-haired lover would pick up and listen to what he had to say.

* * *

A/N: Uh-oh, looks like not all is well in the realm of the threesome. Let's hope for better and brighter days…which will come sooner if I get some lovely reviews from you all. So please, Read and Review, as always! 


	5. Chapter 5

Trial By Fire

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Static Shock is not owned by me, and I am in no way affiliated with the creators. This is not being made for profit, purely for entertainment purposes.

Yes, i know its a long chapter. I'm getting ready for finals starting tomorrow. Deal :) Remember to enjoy, and please, feedback is appreciated.

* * *

The old laboratory was no longer there, but he went in anyway. Donovan Holmes ignored the No Trespassing signs so clearly marked on the rusting chain-linked fence, cutting through the oxidized metal easily, his boots echoing off the cracked-plaster walls. Donovan's hair was slicked back, his dark eyes sharp as shattered obsidian, set into a chiseled olive-skinned face. He looked around the old facility, his mind wandering back in time to when the place was new. He sighed nostalgically.

"And to think," he said to his company. "It was only fifteen years ago when this was all brand-new…and your father funded this project. He started it all…but tell me, Edwin: why continue it?"

Edwin Alva Jr. thrust his hands into the pockets of his slacks and scowled. "Why not? There is still so much to be learned from it."

"Still, mutanegenic properties and human testing?"

"You had no qualms about it fifteen years ago," Alva pointed out. "Why would it bother you now?"

"I never cared," Donovan shrugged. "All of Miles' subjects were either jailbait or street punks with no future. Still, maybe he should've tested on drug addicts instead."

"Or felons from the state penitentiary," Alva agreed. Donovan took a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit up, puffing away. "Its one way to clean up the streets."

Alva cast a glance at the four large canisters of bang gas, painted a brightly obnoxious yellow, with red warning labels spray-painted onto the sides, big black radioactive symbols on each. "Are you curious about why I wanted this?"

Donovan shook his head, exhaling smoke. "Not really. Your business is your business. All I care about is the money."

Edwin didn't like Donovan at all. The dark man looked like the type who would sell his own mother for a single crumb, and at any moment, it looked like he would turn on someone like a rabid wolf. The problem with Donovan was, as much as Edwin hated to admit it, the man knew how to get a job done. If he was asked to find rare artifacts for a private collection, he'd find it, no matter what, provided the cost was sufficient.

This earned him plenty of enemies over the years, but somehow, they never lasted long.

Donovan extinguished his cigarette and sighed. "It's too bad," he said. "I was hoping the old gang would be back here to complete the process."

"You mean the people Fisher experimented on? No, they're long gone," Alva said.

"Too bad," Holmes replied. "The one girl, Claire…she was a fox!"

Alva made a disgusted noise, muttering, "Cretin…"

Donovan threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Cretin, am I?" he challenged. "I'm not the one selling my soul here."

"Just take your money and shut up," Edwin said crossly. "My business with you is through."

"No it isn't, Eddy," Donovan mocked, walking straight up to him. "Even if you figure out how to make more of this shit, you'll need the raw materials…and when that happens, well," he patted Edwin on the shoulder, grinning like a cat with the proverbial canary. "You know how to reach me."

* * *

Virgil groaned in frustration and hung up the phone. "He's not answering! Rich, can't you find him?"

Richie was watching him, and sent him a long-suffering look. "Do you think I have him micro-chipped or something?"

"Well do you?"

Richie paused.

"Yeah, hang on…"

* * *

"That's him!"

Batman pulled Hotstreak back by his shirt, shushing him. "Stay still!" he ordered, "You don't know if he's armed."

"Does it matter?"

"You need the element of surprise. Wait until he gets closer…"

As much as Hotstreak wanted to go off and fry the bastard himself, his subconscious was telling him that Batman knew what he was talking about. Donovan was walking idly back to the black Mercedes that served as his personal transport. The dark man paused and dug through his coat pocket, extracting a cell phone.

Batman and Hotstreak were close enough to overhear:

"Holmes. Oh hey, how's it going in Somalia? Uh-huh…uh-huh. Good. Good, excellent. Keep me posted…what's that? Oh yeah, it got here fine, just fine. Don't worry, I spared no expense. And thanks again for supplying…"

Donovan stopped dead in his step, pausing just outside of the open door to the back seat of the Mercedes. His expression contorted into one of complete rage.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S DEAD?" he roared. "Marty was our informant…I KNOW that! Don't you _dare_ fucking preach to me! I'm the one on paying you, you sonofabitch!"

Hotstreak and Batman shared a look and listened closer.

"JACK? Jack _Stone_? HE was the one? That _BASTARD_! I'll fucking kill…" The person on the other line interrupted him, chatting for a moment, Donovan seething. "I don't give a shit! I want that fucker dead! He's fucked up too many of our plans…the _government_? What the hell makes you think he's working…CIA? FUCK that!"

Hotstreak's eyes widened. CIA? He'd never thought…no, no, that wasn't possible. Jack Stone was NOT a CIA agent. He couldn't be…right?

Donovan went on. "I don't care. Shoot him, torture him, poison, throw him off a damn cliff for all I care! I want him dead, and I want his head on my desk within the next week…I don't give two shits, GET IT DONE!"

He hung up and growled, "Fucking bastard…" He slid into the back seat, slamming the door shut. As the Mercedes pulled away and into the streets of Dakota, Hotstreak looked down at the ground, whispering, "CIA?"

"It's possible," Batman told him. "You never thought of that?"

"My old man was not fucking CIA…he couldn't be."

"Don't jump to conclusions yet. This informant, Marty…its interesting."

"Why would he be killed? What did he know? What made him so dangerous?" Hotstreak questioned. Batman regarded him carefully. "You surprise me," he admitted. "You're approaching this analytically. You've never done that before."

"I'm living with a computer genius and a lawyer," he reminded the Dark Knight. Batman arched an eyebrow; he had a point.

"Lets go," he ordered. Hotstreak whipped his head around. "What? That's it?"

"We'll get back to the Batwing, then we'll discuss there…"

"No, We're going to discuss HERE."

Both Batman and Hotstreak froze, Hotstreak muttering a curse. Both turned around and found Static and Gear staring straight at both of them. "What the hell is this?"

A gun was cocked, and all four men were genuinely surprised to find two people aiming guns straight at them. Batman and Static reacted immediately, Static charging up on instinct and the Dark Knight drawing a batarang, ready to defend themselves…until Hotstreak jumped in front of them.

"STOP! I know them!"

Static's charge dissipated, but Batman was still on the defensive. Hotstreak turned to the three people, hissing, "Claire, Jane, lower your guns!"

"_Fuck_ no," Claire said. "I don't trust the one in the cape."

"Girl," Jane said, the firs to lower her gun. "He don't trust you either. Make it easier on yourself…"

Static used his magnetism to draw the gun out of Claire's hands. She glared at him, "HEY!"

Gear tried to quell the rising tempers. "Look, we're not going to hurt you. We just want some answers, we want to know what's going on, and we're not going to get them if we're standing around here ready to kill each other. We just want to help you…"

"Why should we tell you anything?" Claire snarled at the hero. "Francis, tell him to fuck off."

"I can't," he told her.

"Why the hell not?"

"He's my partner."

Claire and Jane paused. "He's…your what?" Jane asked, stunned.

"My partner," Hotstreak said. "My 'roommate', my 'special friend'…"

"You're gay," Claire said evenly. "I knew it…I fucking KNEW it!"

Jane cursed, digging through her pocket. "How much was it?"

"Fifty bucks," Claire smirked.

"I don't have that on me!"

"Tough."

"Excuse me," Gear tried again. "Could we please get to the bottom of this?"

Jane was the more genial of the two women. She smiled at Gear. "Well sure, babe…"

"Not here," Claire said. "The walls have ears."

Hotstreak glanced over at Static, Gear and batman, then sighed. "How far is your hideout?"

Jane pointed south. "About twenty minutes out of the city."

"The boondocks?"

"You'd rather we were right in the epicenter?"

"Good point…"

* * *

Tobias gaped when he saw the three superheroes descend into his lab. He was even more surprised to see a certain flame-haired metahuman.

"Francis?" he breathed. "Jesus Christ, is that really you?"

Hotstreak jumped the rest of the way down the ladder and marched over to Tobias, and instead of opting for the polite manly handshake, he took the scientist into his arms, hugging him. Tobias froze.

"Um…you do realize I don't swing that way, right?"

"Toby…I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore."

Tobias drew back. "What are you talking about?"

"I know what you're capable of," said Hotstreak. He sighed and said, "I'm gonna come right out and say it, I'm confessing, right now."

"Confessing?" Static asked. "To what?"

"I'm getting rid of my powers; I want them gone. For good."

Static felt as if a lead weight had hit him in the stomach. He stood there, stunned, as Gear turned to Batman. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

Batman remained silent before he answered, "I didn't have the technology to do it. I did research for him."

Static cut him off, confronting Hotstreak. "When did you decide this?"

"Static, I don't need them anymore."

"I'm afraid I'll have to disagree," Tobias said firmly. "You still have the natural ability to produce fire with your mind."

"I know that!" Hotstreak yelled. "But I don't want this kind of power anymore! Toby, I'm too powerful!"

"And what would you like me to do about it?" the scientist said.

"Toby, quit bullshitting around! I KNOW you've done your own research into the human genetics…

"Oh shit," Tobias' brown eyes widened when he realized what he was being asked to do. "You've got to be fucking kidding me…"

"Erase it," the meta-human said. "The pyrokinesis, the bang baby powers…and the gay gene."

This time, both Gear and Static turned to Batman. Unfortunately, the Dark Knight was also stunned. Gear said to him, "I'm guessing he left out that little detail?"

Batman could only nod.

Tobias, however, was livid. He got into Hotstreak's face. "Are you fucking INSANE? You're talking about gene splicing and CLONING. Do you have any idea what the ethical ramifications are?"

"What about the ethical ramifications of me burning you to a crisp!" Hotstreak yelled back, angrily bursting into flames. Suddenly, a column of water, supposedly appearing out of nowhere, slammed into him, throwing him a few feet. He hit the wall and fell to the ground, his body steaming. Static was the first person by his side.

"Francis, FRANCIS!"

"Will you chill out?" Claire said. "He'll be fine. I've done that before, and he lived."

Static looked up sharply at her. "You mean you're…"

"All four of us are," Jane nodded. "Me, Claire, Tobias and Francis…We're all the results of Miles Fisher's experiments."

* * *

"We were his little pet project, Tobias explained a little later, giving Francis time to recuperate from Claire's off-the-cuff attack. Crossing his arms over his chest, he continued. "Miles was fascinated with 'the elements' as he described. Me, Claire and Jane were the first people he experimented on. Somehow he was able to isolate the genome that gave us our specific abilities. Claire, as you can plainly see, was given powers pertaining to water and ice. Jane, on the other hand, was given ability to control air and weather…to a degree."

"And you?" Gear asked.

Tobias smiled thinly. "I'm earth. I can control earth, but not in the sense of the whole 'Captain Planet' thing. I can control anything that comes _out_ of the earth." He twisted his wrist around, and a metal panel on the wall twisted into a grotesque shape with a loud groan. Making a fist, Tobias crushed the metal into a tiny ball, the size of a baseball. The metal ball clanged to the ground harmlessly.

Static helped Hotstreak up to a standing position. "So you can control metal?"

"Metal, glass, sand, soil; anything and everything that comes out of the earth, you name it. Glass is made of sand anyway, so it's easy to manipulate."

Gear looked confused. "I have a whole database of known bang babies. Hell, I have meta-human radar! How the hell could I have missed you?"

"Unlike your paramour here," Tobias explained. "We don't like to use our powers. It makes us stand out."

Francis coughed and sputtered, then sent a glare to Claire. "Did you _have_ to do that?"

Claire sniffed. "I wanted to do that to you back at the docks. You're one hell of an idiot for wanting to attack Donovan…"

"He took something from me," Francis growled. That low, animalistic growl caught the attention of Static and Gear. Gear especially; he knew that there was much more to this story than Francis was willing to tell him.

Tobias opened a few files on his computer, showing them schematics on his computer. He showed them a virtual model of a DNA double helix, and color coded genetic make-up in red and blue. "What you see here is a normal human DNA. I'm going to use Francis as an example here."

He opened a file and displayed an image of another double helix, yet with a tiny, nearly unnoticeable strand of yellow. "That," he pointed, "Is the gene I discovered to give him his pyro-kinetic abilities that he was born with. And if you can spot the light blue strand right about…there," he pointed again. "That would be the gay gene."

"And you're saying you can just cut them out?" Batman challenged. Tobias shook his head, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"As much as Francis wants me to, I can't do it. Splicing is still dangerous, and besides, I'd be fucking with his natural genetics. God knows what would happen to him."

"It's refreshing to see you be so ethical about this," he remarked. Tobias sent him a half-grin. "And have the worlds as well as the Justice League on my ass? I'm not taking chances. Besides, I never went to college."

"Not that you needed to," Gear said, gazing in awe at the laboratory. "It's remarkable that you made this whole place. You did your own research into genetics too?"

Tobias nodded, smiling at the computer genius. "I did. What I learned from experiments was mostly trial and error, and I used myself as a guinea pig on more than one occasion."

Gear smiled. "Yeah, I've done that too. I notice your machinery is a bit behind-the-times…"

"Hey, it's not like I have a grant from the big-bad government."

* * *

Claire watched the men folk with her usual deep watery stare. Jane sat beside her eating some yogurt as she commented, "They been gone awhile yet."

"Who?" Claire asked.

"Francis and Static. I knew you said he was taken, I didn't think they were taken by _each other_."

"Small world," she shrugged. "Why? Are you concerned?"

"You would be too," Jane pointed out. "And you are, ain't ya?"

"Francis is a big boy, he can handle his own life."

"That's a load of shit, and you know it. Remember how he was after we escaped with the others? Lord have Mercy, was _he_ a wreck…"

Claire's mind went back in time to that specific event, when the neo-breed had hatched a plan of escape, and that had resulted in the lab's destruction, and Fisher's eventual insanity. The blonde woman also recalled how Hotstreak had been shortly after, and the image she had of him, rocking in a corner, shaking violently and muttering under his breath… Claire shook herself out of her memory. She didn't like to think about that. She hated to think about the past.

"Yeah," she said simply. "Yeah, I remember."

* * *

Hotstreak was turning a deaf ear to whatever Static was saying to him. The fire-weilder knew that whatever it was being said was besides the point. Virgil thought this whole thing was about the nature of their relationship. He was such an idiot. Couldn't Virgil see that their problems were deeper than that?

"Why won't you say anything to us? Francis, look at me," Virgil demanded to the meta-human's turned back.

When Francis turned back to look at him, fire burned in his eyes, and the flame-haired man's face was set like granite. "What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? What have you been keeping from us? Why do you want to kill this Holmes guy?"

"You want to know why?"

Virgil didn't like that tone at all. Normally, when Francis spoke, even his speech was full of fire and vest, belying the vibrant life and soul inside him. But this voice, this tone…was dead. The look in his eyes…his eyes didn't have that normal spark; instead, they were like coals smoldering under debris, burning with a dark fire. His expression was what worried him the most: Francis looked ready to rip something to shreds.

Francis repeated, "You want to know why I want him dead?"

Virgil could only nod slowly.

Francis said evenly, bereft of emotion, "I want to kill Donovan Holmes. I want to rip out his heart and burn his body to cinders. I want to completely desecrate his body like he desecrated mine."

Virgil was now convinced—he really did not like where this was going. "You mean the experiments…"

"No," Francis cut him off harshly. "He violated me. Now I'm going to fucking kill him."


	6. Chapter 6

Trial By Fire

Chapter 6

Author's notes: Yes, I realize its been well over a year since I updated this, but I need to stress that I've had other things going on in my life that have prevented me from finishing this. at the rate things are looking, if I ever finish this, it will be a damn miracle. This fic may end up being shorter than its predecessor, purely on the basis that it's been years since I've seen the show, and my inspiration for it is lacking. I will do my best to finish this, perhaps within the next 4 chapters, but I don't promise miracles.

Disclaimer: Same as always, not mine.

* * *

Donovan Holmes was not a man to anger. The last time he had lost his temper, he blew a man's head clear off his shoulders, and not in the conventional way. Edwin Alva Jr. had witnessed it firsthand, and it instantly caused him to see things from Holmes' perspective. Holmes was a dangerous man in every sense of the word. An undiagnosed sociopath, Holmes hated being surrounded by people who thought they knew more than he did. Edwin Alva was one of those people.

Alva wasn't a fool; he knew Holmes was only tolerating their partnership, if it could be called that, because Alva had the money to back Holmes' project, whatever it was. It had something to do with the bang gas, and Alva was certain Holmes was planning to stage another Big Bang.

Edwin Alva Jr. sat behind the massive desk in his office—well, it was really his father's old office—contemplating his position. He was in a precarious situation here; he knew he was negotiating with terrorists, and that alone could bring him up on charges of treason. He had an entire team of lawyers to get him out of any case. He could get away with murder—but these days, what with Americans still seeing things in a post-9/11 terrorists versus American values, there was no way he could win a case if brought up on treason. The public wouldn't stand for it, and the justice branch of the tree of federal government was a branch easily swayed.

He looked at the briefcase Donovan set on his desk. Edwin arched an eyebrow. "I think you've got this all wrong," he started. "I'm the one paying you, remember?"

Donovan leaned forward and opened the case, revealing canisters, not money like Edwin thought. The cat-like smirk on the taller man's face was unmistakably predatory. "Not at all, Alva. This is merely more raw materials…I believe the materials you _needed_…"

Alva stared at him. He decided to finally ask. "Why? Why are you interested in something like this? You said you didn't care about another Big Bang, as long as you got money for it."

"I don't care, and I will get the money," Holmes said, closing the case and sliding towards the businessman. "Once it happens again, people will be scrambling for a cure for it. only this won't be designted to this city…"

Alva's eyes widened. "My god…Global?!"

Holmes shrugged. "And why not?"

"For ethical reasons, you asshole!" Alva said, standing abruptly. He pointed an accusatory finger at him. "I didn't care what you were looking for before, but this is too much! If this is what you're really after, our dealings are through!"

Holmes stared him down, getting the businessman to slowly sit back in his chair. The tall dark-haired man leaned forward on the desk, fixing a cold stare on Alva.

"First of all, punk, lets not act pretentious here. I'm not a humanitarian, I'm a Hell raiser, and my services are in high demand. Hell, you think the US government would give a fuck about my business dealings? They don't care where their nukes come from so long as its not in a sandrat's hands. In case you haven't noticed by now, I don't have ethics. I stopped caring about people a long time ago.

"Frankly, the world can kiss my ass. Tell me, and I want your honest opinion here: do you think man is inherently good, or inherently evil?"

Alva didn't have to think about it, he already thought he had the answer, "Good. Man is inherently good."

"Why would you say that?"

"They proved it in laboratories years ago: People like to feel good, and people have a predisposition to help others around them…"

Donovan let out a laugh. "Oh that's rich! And oh so touching…you still have enough faith in that so-called God that you think man is good? Let me tell you what I think: Man is Evil. Pure and simple. Why else would they need religion to teach them how to be good? people don't want to feel good about helping others—they don't do it for the homeless alcoholic veteran or the orphans in Timbuktu. They do it because they like the high. Man is inherently selfish, arrogant, lustful, and violent. Men start wars, men are the cause of suffering."

"Men like you." Alva bit his tongue as soon as he said it. The glare from Holmes' dark eyes smouldered like the fires of hell. The man's voice came out as a low growl, and to Alva's shock and fear, those eyes began to glow red.

"WHAT did you say?!"

Alva cowered back in his chair, from the outburst and could see Holmes' body smoking, the blue-grey mists rising from his back and shoulders making the man appear as the picture of a demon. Alva suddenly felt his windpipe constrict and his hands flew up to his neck. It felt like someone was strangling him, but there wasn't a hand in sight. But one desperate look at Holmes was all he needed to guess what was going on.

"You think I am evil? I'm not the one who SOLD MY SOUL!" Donovan backed off with a snarl, releasing his telekinetic hold on Alva's throat. The businessman collapsed onto the floor, coughing and sputtering, gasping for air. Holmes glared down at him, then moved around the desk to deal a sharp kick into his abdomen.

"And before you get any self-righteous ideas…you go to the police, and I won't just kill you…I'll make sure they never find a trace of you."

* * *

Claire looked up as Static and Francis returned, and she immediately knew what needed to be done. Francis had a dark scowl on his face, similar to the one he had sported back in high school; this one however had a darkness to it that frightened her. The blonde woman had known Francis for too long, and this wasn't natural for him. 

Her phone went off and she flipped it open. _Jack stone_ flashed on the caller ID. She answered quickly. "Hey Jack."

"_Did you find him?"_

"He's here, yeah. He and Static shock and Gear…Batman too."

There was long pause on Jack's end; Claire wondered if she had lost him, until he said, _"You have to be shitting me."_

"I'm not. I think the Justice League is onto us, if Batman's here."

"_No, Batman sometimes likes to work alone. I think we're safe for now."_

"Why are you calling?" Claire asked, keeping a wary eye on Francis.

"_I heard from Jane that you'd found my son."_

Claire paused, then stood up, moving away from the pyro-kinetic meta-human to hold a whispered conversation with his father. "We did, and he's been asking Tobias to splice out certain genes."

"_He can't."_

"I know he can't, and he won't."

"_No, I meant Francis. My son's genes can't be taken out."_

"He wants the gay gene gone, mostly."

Jack paused again_. "I'm sorry, he wants his _what_ taken out?"_

Claire sighed, "He's in a relationship with two men, he's been with them for a while…"

"_No, no, its not that…you've seen this gene in his DNA?"_

"Toby's isolated it, yes."

Jack paused a second time. _"That's impossible. I have my son's DNA, I've seen the chromosomes…that gene was never there."_

Claire listened intently. "What are you saying?"

"_Someone's messed with my son's genes. I need to meet you, talk about this with you—schoolbook depository, downtown."_

"How soon?"

"_Give me an hour. I'm still at my stakeout."_

"Gotcha. I'll be there in a few," Claire said, hanging up shortly after, she looked back at Francis and his two lovers, watching them carefully. Gear appeared to be the most level-headed of the trio, who right now was trying to quell Francis' rage, or rather, righteous fury. Static looked to still be in shock—no pun intended—to his lover's wishes. Jane and Tobias were giving their testimony of Donovan to Batman, and describing their plan to bring the terrorist down, while the Dark Knight appeared to be listening intently.

Claire's blue eyes focused back on Static, then made her decision. Given her choices, he seemed to be the one who needed to hear this the most. She walked straight up to him and grabbed his sleeve. When he looked back at her, she said quietly, "I need to talk to you alone. There's things you need to know."

* * *

Static followed her to an alcove, high above the lab. They stood by a railing that overlooked the facility, holding a whispered conversation. 

"So what did you want to tell me?" Static asked.

Claire sighed through her nose, then ran her hand through her blonde hair absently. "I wanted to talk to you about the Fisher experiments that were done to us."

"I heard a little bit about it," he admitted.

"From who?"

"Natasha, called Serendipity."

Claire smiled fondly. "I remember her: she was a saint. I heard she's married now, set up a school for the neo-breed?"

"Married and 9 months pregnant, due any day now," Static said happily.

"Unbelievable…her husband must make her very happy."

Static thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I don't think I've seen Ebon—I mean Ivan—so happy before."

"Ivan? She married Ivan Evans?!"

"Wasn't my first choice either, but, they get along alright. She keeps him in line and out of trouble."

Claire smirked. "Good. He was headed down the wrong path when I was in high school."

"You knew him?"

"I knew him and Francis since junior high. I lost contact with Ivan and his brother during high school, but Frankie and me stayed close…especially during the Fisher experiments. Both of us were poor and looking for money—we were desperate. Fisher promised compensation for being test subjects. We never knew what we were in for."

There was a long pause. Static turned to face her and saw the pain and years of depression and violation evident in her eyes and in the lines already on her face. She was either in her late 20's or early 30's, but she had the look of a war victim more than anything else. Virgil remembered seeing a similar look on Francis' face whenever Fisher was brought up. It begged the question,

"Was he? Was he…violated?"

Claire paused a moment, then nodded. "Yeah," she replied quietly. "Yeah, he was—both of us were. I think that's what got the gears turning, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

Claire turned her blonde head to face him. "He's not really gay, Static…I know him better than that."

Static looked both hurt and offended. "How can you know that?"

"I was his fuck buddy in high school."

He paused, "…oh." Why hadn't he considered that? Of course Francis had other lovers. It was natural, he had to have a past. Virgil had just assumed it was a history with men, not women. Although, he had to admit even as a gay man, Claire was a very attractive woman, and must have been very lovely in her teenage years. He didn't quite remember her, and briefly wondered if she had gone to another school.

Then it registered, Claire Montague. She had left school in his junior year for reasons no one could explain. It was like she had disappeared into thin air. He and Gear had researched the case and helped the police search for her, but like any other disappearance, after two weeks, her case was closed and she was presumed dead. Since she lived in a rough part of town, no one even bothered to search for a body either. He listened to her more intently, believing that now more than ever, she—like Francis—needed someone to talk to. _If only he would have trusted me and Richie enough to tell us what was bothering him…_

"Yeah. I think the rape must've done something to him…some deeper psychological thing, that made him think he was…he has…_had_ no gay gene. The pyrokinesis, yes, he can't get rid of that, no matter how much he wants it…"

"So you think that with some 'conditioning' he won't be gay anymore," Static said harshly. Claire glared back at him, "Bi-curious is the term you want. Mark my words, Francis is straight. Through and through."

"You're going to have to prove it."

"Oh come off it!" Claire snapped back like a wounded dog. "You're in a three-way relationship! There's no way it could ever have worked out anyway! Francis isn't meant to be tied down, he's too wild."

Something in the way she said it spoke ever louder to him. _He's too wild_… That's when the thought slowly occurred to him.

"Is that why he was raped? To subdue him?"

Claire's blue eyes widened, surprised he'd figured it out so quickly. She sighed, then nodded. "That's exactly what happened…to all of us. Anyone who willingly submitted was left alone. Those who fought it, like me and Francis, paid the price."

Static frowned. "So you too?"

Claire gritted her teeth. "I want Holmes dead more than anyone else…you have my word on that."

"Vengeance isn't the way to get things to work," he pointed out. Claire looked him in the eye, and Static squirmed a little; it was as if she could see right through him, through the mask. The look in her eyes was a haunted one, the look of a soul that had died already, and yet the body refused to give up.

Static wondered how many times—if any—Claire had contemplated taking her own life. Francis had confessed to having feelings like that years ago, but not anymore. Was he lying about that too? If so…what kept him going for so long?

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said suddenly, turning her eyes away. "I don't like dwelling on the past. Too many bad memories I wish I could subdue, forget…but I can't. Tobias says it's immoral to try and suppress my memories."

"I don't blame him," Static said, leaning against the railing next to her. "They'd resurface sooner or later anyhow. Besides, I think you need to remember these things, more than anything."

"What makes you say that?"

"I have a friend who's a lawyer in criminal cases," he lied. "He deals with 'special victims' a lot—rape, homicide, sexually based offenses, you name it. most of the time, witnesses are hard to come by, and the victims only hurt themselves by trying to forget."

"Have you or this friend ever been raped?"

"No," he admitted.

"Then you'll never know what its like to live with the shame that someone took you—took something precious—from you by force. As a tool. To show that you _are_ a tool, that you're worthless. Moreover, they use sex as a tool to show that you are conquered. I know how their minds work, and they have no remorse. They don't deserve to live, and I want to make sure of that."

"You know I can't condone that," he warned.

"I don't expect you to," she said wanly, staring off into space, as if the secret lab didn't exist in her eyes. Static wasn't sure what to make of her at first. Her behavior and attitude was off-putting to say the least, and her near-monosyllabic responses left him wondering just how badly the Miles Fisher experiments had affected her, as well as Jane, Tobias…and Francis.

Before he could contemplate for long, Claire spoke up, "There's someone you need to meet, someone you need to talk to. He can provide a lot more answers than I can. More than Tobias can."

He glanced her way. "Who?"

Her answer was short and simple: "Francis' father, Jack Stone."

* * *

Jack Stone probably shouldn't have been surprised to see who showed up at the "secret" meeting place at an abandoned schoolbook depository, but he most certainly pulled out his gun at the sight of the unannounced guest. Claire he was used to seeing, but he was shocked to see that she'd brought a friend. 

Claire held up her hands as a signal for him to put his gun away. "Relax, he's cool."

The aging red-haired man glared at Static. "I thought we agreed: no visitors," he said to Claire.

"Jack, he needs to know," she said flatly.

"He doesn't need to know shit," he barked. "No offense, son," he said to the hero on the side. "But I'm still working for the Federal government—even if you are a superhero, this is classified inf—"

Claire interrupted him, "It won't be for long, the media's going to go into a frenzy…"

"For God's sake, Claire, they already do! The American Media is the last thing I need to worry about, the American People worry me more!"

Static cleared his throat and growled out, getting frustrated from being kept in the dark. Plus, getting the federal agent to stop pointing his gun at his head would be almost helpful. "Would someone _please_ tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?!"

Jack stared at him, then turned to look at Claire; her expression seemed to tell him everything. He paused, then holstered his gun and looked back at Static, "So I understand you're close to my son."

"More than you are, apparently," the hero shot back.

"Touché—I deserved that."

"Jack…" Claire glared.

"Alright," he sighed. "I bet he came here for answers…so I might as well explain a little. Have a seat, we'll be here a while."

Static remained standing, crossing his arms, "I'm fine."

Jack shrugged. "Suit yourself. I heard you could be stubborn—but my guess is your partner's worse."

"Perhaps."

"But I'm gonna guarantee my son—your lover—takes the cake from both of you."

Static's eyes widened; Jack nodded. "Yes, I know about that. And you might as well take the mask off, Virgil, I can see right through you."

Static's mouth hung open, making him look like the catch of the day. Jack snickered, "I knew your father in high school—you have his jaw structure. Robert was a good man, good football player. Beat my ass every game. I even saw you the day you were born…my God, how you've grown. Your old man must be proud of you."

"How…"

Jack's voice entered his head. _There's more to the Stone family than meets the eye…_

Virgil stared at him, then slowly took off the mask, making Claire gasp. "Virgil Hawkins?! You're kidding—YOU are Static?"

"It should have been obvious, Claire," Jack said, sitting on an old crate. "But I digress—long story short, you know Francis inherited pyrokinesis. That's old news—got that from his mother. Regressive gene, I'm afraid, though I'm surprised my telepathy hasn't manifested in him yet. He's what, 30 now?"

"Yes," Virgil said, staring at his lover's father. "You're telepathic?"

"Of course. You didn't think that there were people out there who were naturally gifted? Sure, you have the geniuses, like Gear—sorry, Richie (knew his father too, oddly enough)—and other intellectuals. But there are and have been people with amazing abilities that boggle the minds of ordinary people. People get all antsy about persons with abilities like ours, even though they don't realize that they are as likely to get them as everyone else."

"You're not making any sense."

"Not yet. We humans only use 10 of our brains in our entire lifetime. Francis and I, as well as the rest of our family, have the heightened propensity to do extraordinary things. I never picked up fire powers however, but I always thought that was a pretty cool power. But, my telepathy got me a sweet gig."

"What's that?"

Claire explained, "Since he can read minds, the US Government recruited him from the Army to use him as a spy against the Soviets back during the Cold War."

Jack corrected her, "I can't read _minds_. I read _thoughts_. Most people aren't smart enough to disguise their true feelings about something or someone. I was fortunate enough to be born with the ability to sense that, and its saved my ass many times now."

Virgil's natural jovial self kicked in. He smirked, "In other words, you have an internal bullshit detector."

Jack grinned. "There's the good ole' Hawkins Humor. And yes, that's pretty much it."

Virgil thought back and realized that Francis had some form of that himself, though it didn't really manifest until much later in his life. But his red-haired paramour certainly knew when someone was trying to pull the wool over his eyes.

Jack continued, "But as I'm getting older, I'm starting to lose my touch. Some people's eyesight and hearing goes—my telepathy's on its way out."

"That must be a shame."

"To tell the truth, I'd rather my memory go first."

Virgil looked around the room, then shrugged, taking his disk from inside his coat and whipping it open. Powering it up with electricity, he sat on the edge of it, listening and asking questions. He saw no need to hide it anymore. "So you mentioned people have certain abilities they're not aware of?"

"Naturally. Explain the Big Bang to me."

"I…what do you mean?"

"Some of those kids died, didn't they?"

"I…I think so, yeah."

"So why do you think they died, while others lived?"

Virgil frowned; he hadn't really thought about it. Jack noted the look in Virgil's eyes. "I'm guessing you knew a few of them?"

Virgil nodded a little, "I remember Wade…he was a gang banger…"

Jack scoffed, leaning back onto his hands. "Not much of a loss then."

"The loss of any human life is a tremendous loss," Virgil countered. "I fight cases like that all the time in court."

"Virgil, you have to understand that people like Wade die a slow death. I've seen them enough, seen it happen enough times. You could argue that Wade or any of those gang members never had a choice to become what they were, but deep down, you know that's complete bullshit. The problem is that no one takes accountability for their actions anymore. You're a lawyer: you know that the criminals always have a _choice_. Wade _chose_ to lead the life he did, a life that only ends in death and regret. I never said his death was tragic; the death of a young person in that situation is the most tragic by far."

Claire sighed, catching Virgil off-guard. She had been so quiet he'd almost forgotten she was there. The dark man sighed too and stared back at Jack. "Francis also went down that path."

"Yes, but he was saved. You saved him from himself."

"No, I think the prison system did. He was arrested at 18 and sent to prison for a 10 year sentence."

"I _know_ the details of the case," Jack said, looking out the window to his right. Darkest night was slowly becoming a gray dawn, storm clouds on the horizon, hiding a the red streaks of the rising sun. "I know the details of the majority of his life. Including you and Richie. You boys saved him, and I can never thank you enough."

"We only did what we thought was right."

"So you don't love him?"

"I…I wasn't sure if…"

Jack chuckled, "Don't worry, Frankie isn't the first Stone to be in a bi-sexual relationship, and God knows he won't be the last."

Virgil was shocked once again. So wait, even his own _father_ leaned that way? Francis was starting to look more and more like the man seated in front of him than ever.

"So…you're cool with this? With us?"

"As long as my son is happy, that's alright with me. But we're deviating from the subject. Are you familiar with a man named Donovan Holmes?"

Virgil narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. Jack shrugged. "Probably was before your time anyhow…Holmes has long had a connection with terrorists inside and outside this country, but he covers his tracks so well we can never nab him. He's a major threat to homeland security, though no one is able to catch him. Know why that is?"

"Friends in high and low places?" he guessed.

"Powers, Virgil. Donovan is one of the lucky few who have been gifted with an amazing amount of skill and strength in telepathy. Unfortunately, circumstances early in his life forced him down the path of least resistance—much like the Wade kid you knew. Life of crime apparently brings him a great amount of power."

Claire spoke up, fishing out her updated palm pilot and switching it on. Virgil had marveled at the rapid change in technology in the past ten to fifteen years, and now, Palm Pilots could display the information on the hand-held screen and portray it on a wall, similar to a film projector. Teachers in schools no longer used overhead projectors—their palm pilots drove the lessons. Virgil smirked and remembered how jealous Richie had been once he heard the news about that.

Claire pointed the projection to the bare wall and showed Virgil a copy of some old school records. "These are records we picked up from the Montgomery County school district in Maryland, back in the 1980's. Donovan was picked on a lot in school, because he was so different."

"…as is the case with a lot of brilliant kids," Jack added. Virgil saw where this was going immediately.

"He fits the profile for a school shooter: white male, severe mental disorder, depression, picked on and isolated..."

"Close," Claire said. "He had brought a gun in to school more than once—I think a total of ten times, with intent to kill his bullies. Never got the chance…at least while he was in school."

"After graduation, a different story," Jack said. "Most of the football team showed up dead in the Chesapeake Bay in what local fishermen call 'the dumping grounds'."

"So he was a serial killer from the beginning?"

"That's the strange thing—the autopsies couldn't place how they were killed. There was no evidence to suggest severe trauma, not a mark on their bodies, no evidence of any previous medical conditions that would contribute to cause of death. It's my belief Donovan has a special way of killing someone using telepathy, but I can't be certain."

"So how do Richie, Francis and I tie into this?"

"Holmes is planning a second Big Bang," Claire said, turning off her palm pilot. "Bigger than the first one, and by far more widespread. Think of the bang gas as a mutagen—biological warfare."

"You're kidding."

"We wish," Jack sighed. "This guy has more issues than Newsweek, and we're thinking that he's using this Bang to weed out the 'unworthy'."

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine. He could see clearly the night of the Big Bang, when he was fourteen. In his memories he could still hear the screams of the gang bangers, witnessing grotesque transformations right there in the street, and hearing about the brutal deaths of the unfortunate victims within the next few weeks. "It'll be a holocaust."

"More like a 'survival of the fittest' in Donovan's mind," Claire said. "He wants to make a whole world of 'special' people, make it the norm. so that all the normal kids who picked on him…well, they'd be the exception and the tables would be turned."

"That's fucking insane."

"Lets try to remember who we're talking about here," the blonde woman said dryly.

"Still!" Virgil said, standing. "There has to be a way to stop him! We know Alva Corp is the only manufacturer, we just need to shut them down for good!"

"That's the problem," Jack pointed out. "If the federal government intervenes, that puts Edwin Alva Jr. in the crossfire. Tightens the noose, if you will. Its obvious he's involved somehow, either Holmes is offering a huge 'donation' or is holding a gun to the kid's head. I'm not entirely sure which it is: if Alva is doing this against his will or not."

"If I know Alva, he's probably all for it."

"Shame on you, Virgil, you're a lawyer and should know better! You know that's…"

"Hearsay, yes, I know. But its also called a gut feeling."

Claire sniffed, "Which isn't enough to get a subpoena or warrant to look for evidence. The law is against us here."

Jack stared at Virgil. "However, if we could enlist the help of the Justice League—even if it is just you and Richie—we have a better chance of fighting and winning without the public being aware of the danger they're in."

"What about that building that blew up in the business district the other day?"

"I'll confess to that, but that was backed by my superiors. Sometimes you need to fight fire with fire, as the saying goes."

"And your son? What will you do about him?"

Jack looked away, out the window and at the red rising sun leaving blood-red streaks across the clouding sky. _Red sky in morning, man takes warning, _he thought to himself. He looked back up at Virgil, "Francis needs to come to terms with who he is, and I intend to help him any way I can. I know you and Richie will help with that. Not just his sudden decision to change his genes—which he can't, and never will—but also the choices he's made."

"You think he'd make a great hero," Virgil stated. The look in Jack's eyes was no mystery; despite the decisions Francis had made in his life, Jacob F. Stone was damn proud of his boy.

"Any other father would say the same thing. I may not be a religious man, but God gave my boy a gift, and he can use it for good deeds, to save us all."

Virgil sighed, knowing this meeting what coming to a close. He put his white mask back on and asked, "So what is our plan of action?"

"We confront Alva. Tell him he doesn't have to tell us anything, but make him an offer…"

"…He can't refuse?" Claire smirked, not able to resist. Jack snorted, "I was going to say 'to protect him'."

Static, now back in his full costume, shook his head, "I used to think Alva didn't deserve the help."

"The old man may have ruined many lives, but Junior's still green, still has the chance to bring the company to what it was meant to be. But in order to do that, we need to get him out of the lion's den," Jack said, standing up and brushing off the legs of his pants. He started leading them out, picking up his briefcase on the way out. Static grabbed his sleeve, "Aren't you going to talk to Francis?"

Jack looked away, "You heard him—he wants nothing to do with me."

Claire stepped up next to him, "You can change that you know."

"I'd move mountains for him, but I can't make him listen to me. You know how stubborn he is. If he wants to talk, let him seek me out, not the other way around."

Static sighed internally. Making a move like that would only hint to Francis that his father was really distant, and didn't care enough to talk to him, even after all these years. Wordlessly, Static and Claire shared the same look before walking out with Jack. After a long pause, Static finally asked,

"If I may ask…why the schoolbook depository?"

"When was the last time a crime happened in a schoolbook depository?"

"1963, in Dallas, the Kennedy assassination," Static answered swiftly.

"My point exactly."

* * *

A/N: A little long, but it serves a purpose. I know there's not much action, but its setting up for it. Please comment if you find inconsistencies so I can fix them. Thank you. 


	7. Conclusion

To my Readers:

To my Readers:

Due to various reasons and events beyond my control, I will not be able to finish _Trial By Fire._ I realize that this has occurred once before, and I truly regret not updating as much as I can. However, unlike last time, I will provide a story synopsis of how the rest of the story will play out, as well as plot twists, and a (hopefully) satisfactory ending. This is all written in stone, as of now, and, despite any complaints that may be addressed, I as the author will change nothing.

Furthermore, if the ending is so unsatisfactory and you feel that you could do better, by no means am I holding you back. In fact, I encourage anyone and everyone to expand their writing abilities. In layman's terms, **any and all flames will be laughed at and promptly deleted. Please be mature about this.**

Without further ado, the end of Trial By fire:

* * *

_Chapter 7: _

Tobias was back looking over the genes of various known bang babies, searching for common ties. The blue light of the computer monitor reflected on the glasses he was wearing, while Gear stood to his side. The scientist didn't bother looking up at the hero as they conversed, "I take it Bats left?"

"He snuck out a while ago, yeah. Probably got a call from the League," Gear answered.

"I'm surprised you didn't go with him."

"I think this is more important."

"Are you worried? About Francis, I mean," Tobias asked. Gear sighed, "How can I not be? Lately he's been…distant. That alone bothers me."

"It shouldn't. He's always been that way, he's not going to change anytime soon," he theorized, tapping away at the keys.

Gear nodded, "But if what you're saying is true…he doesn't have a gay gene?"

"No, I said he wasn't _born_ with one. The fact that this just popped up, especially after the Fisher experiments, is very fishy to me. I don't know why Fisher, or even Donovan Holmes, saw the need to experiment with someone's sexual orientation, but for whatever reason, they did."

"Does Francis know?"

"Yes, I told him. He wants it cut out, you know that."

"And you can't splice it."

"Even if I had that ability, my ethics wouldn't allow me to do it. It would take another dosage of bang gas to change that, and who knows what other mutations could come of that?"

"You've thought long and hard about this, haven't you?"

"Hey, you gotta do something when you're hiding from the law."

Gear watched the screen and noticed the DNA strands of a few of the neo-breed. Each file was listed with their names, and he pointed at one in particular. "Is that Ivan Evans?"

"Sure is. Curious?"

"Very."

Tobias wordlessly maximized the image, and opened a second window to show the chromosome count. The man took out a laser pointer and showed Gear the numbers. "Now as you know, each human has 23 pairs of chromosomes. Occasionally, a person with an extra strand, or an extra chromosome entirely comes around, but these are people who usually have a severe mental disorder or disability. Though I've found that occasionally, especially in the case of Bang Babies, either a chromosome receives an extra 'arm' if you will, or even a completely new pair altogether. Depending on which one occurs, the effect is either the difference in heightened mental faculties, or, in the latter case, a complete restructuring of their genetic makeup, thus changing their appearance. Aqua Maria and Talon are two prime examples of that."

"And so was Ebon."

"Precisely. In fact, his DNA changed so rapidly, it's my belief that his already skewed world views, such as his gang-banging lifestyle, were only intensified. Both you and Francis have said he's completely turned around since he was cured."

"You think the cure can change a criminal's behavior too?"

"Or their psychology. I've studied Ebon's case, and I have a few theories, but the one I think is most telling is the explanation for _why_ he did the things he did. Other Bang Babies wanted to use their powers for good deeds," here he nodded at the genius, "While others pursued a darker path. I think in Ebon's case, he had grown up with this feeling of powerlessness. That's common in teenagers, who feel independent, but always under someone else's control. The powers gave Ebon the means to exact his _own_ power over others. I'm not saying he's a control freak, but to get that amount of power in such a short amount of time…I can only imagine how he was able to cope."

Gear nodded, "Which explains why he was so adamant about keeping them. He didn't want to lose that power."

"Power corrupts more easily than money. It's a drug, and no doubt it gave him a high he couldn't get from anything else."

Gear smiled, "I dunno, he seems okay with being a daddy-to-be."

Tobias chuckled, smirking. "And married to Natasha…I would never have seen that. She's happy?"

"Perfectly. She's so…blissful. I wonder sometimes, had I been born someone else, if I'd ever know what that joy feels like."

Tobias finally looked up at him, arching an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me that you _want_ to get pregnant?"

"Hell no. How weird and twisted would that be?"

Tobias smirked. "You sure? I could engineer a womb for you, have it surgically transferred…"

"No, thank you."

"It wouldn't be that hard, now that we have more stem cell research…"

"Seriously dude, I'm good."

Natasha meanwhile was sitting idly listening to the TV in the kitchen of the Dakota School for the Gifted. A few students were sitting nearby doing homework, while a pair was cooking together. The seer's hand rested on her stomach, believing that this was the only time in her life when she was completely uncertain. _When will you arrive? I've been waiting so long for you, little one._

As much as she wanted to be a mother, the thought of bringing a child into such a dangerous world for her and her young wards terrified her. She only imagined how her husband was dealing with it.

To his credit, Ivan was keeping himself busy. He had repainted the nursery, put up a border of jungle animals, and set up the crib. His attention to detail was absolutely astounding, and he accepted no help from the other boarders. His worry that the baby would come at any minute made him extremely jittery. Natasha wondered about his feelings on becoming a father, wondered what kind of father he'd be; it wouldn't be the first time she'd thought on this.

Not since she'd married him did she think she had a made a mistake. She knew what was in his heart. No, what worried her most was what lay beyond her visions, things she couldn't foresee.

She knew what Holmes was up to, and she knew he was out looking for them. Sooner or later he would find them, probably imprison them all over again. That thought terrified her. And once her baby was born…she shuddered to think what he would do to her family then.

She jumped when someone tapped on her shoulder. "Oh!"

"Relax," Pixie said, "Its just me…I brought you some tea."

"I can't have caffeine, dear."

"It's herbal—lemon."

"Oh. Well, that's fine then…"

Pixie sat down across from her, handing her the steaming mug. "Everything okay? You look like you're feeling a disturbance in the Force."

Natasha smiled a little, "A bit. I wonder if my trepidation is all about the birth, but I can't be sure…"

Pixie shrugged, helping herself to some tea herself. "Maybe. I wouldn't know about that myself."

"Heavens, I certainly hope not!"

Pixie giggled. "Come on, sure, I'd like a boyfriend, but I'm not that desperate. But c'mon, Tasha, we don't want to see you sad."

"I'm not sad, just…" she toyed with her wedding ring. "Apprehensive…"

"That can't be it—its something bigger, isn't it?"

"I'm not comfortable saying anything just yet…"

The doorbell buzzed below and Pixie got up. "I'll go get it, and don't worry, everything will be okay, I just know it."

The seer smiled, "Thank you for the encouragement."

"Anytime!" the fairy-winged girl said before she flitted out of the room and down the stairs. Natasha sat back, waiting for her tea to cool, but as soon as she reached for her mug, an icy feeling washed over her.

The door.

She tried to stand as quickly as she could, but her nine month pregnant body wasn't helping. She yelled out instead, "Don't open the door! Pixie, DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!"

Pixie's startled scream told her it was too late. Suddenly the room felt ice cold, and the seer's skin began to crawl. Then icy hands clamped down onto her shoulders, holding her tight, and the voice of Donovan Holmes hissed in her ear:

"I found you…"

_This is as far as I got in regards to prose. The rest of this document will be a summary of events and revelations._

* * *

_Chapter 8:_

Donovan Holmes, bastard that he is, kidnaps both Natasha and Pixie in an effort to draw out Tobias, Jane, Claire and Francis out of hiding. What he gets is something far greater: Static and Gear. Their capture prompts Francis to make the sacrifice and ensure that the ones whom he loves are freed and unharmed. Like the proverbial sacrificial lamb, he knows exactly what he is getting himself into. He hands himself over to Donovan, against the urging of his father and fellow tortured souls. Unfortunately for Francis, Donovan goes back on his word and decides to have Static and Gear killed. When word gets back to Tobias, Jane, Claire and Jack, the four begin hatching a plan to get their friends out of there and to safety.

_Chapter 9:_

The four have come up with their foolhardy and very much suicidal escape plan, and Jack decides to inform the League about the goings on, knowing that they'll need all the help they can get. The majority of the original members with the exception of Batman, Wonder Woman and The Flash, are either unable to help or refuse aid for various reasons. Other heroes coming to the rescue include Green Arrow, Black Canary, Huntress and a few others.

Meanwhile, Francis is still kicking himself over his decision to hand himself over to Donovan Holmes, who as plans for his little pet project, and laments that the other Elementals are not there to "share in the fun." Holmes approaches Francis for "a quick chat" before leaving to execute Static and Gear, in which he reveals to Francis his plan for world domination of hyper-powerful beings, where every person in the world would be given the powers given by the Bang gas. Though Holmes recognizes that some people may die in the worldwide release of the gas, he doesn't seem to care, since in his words "The world is too populous anyway. People are starving; there isn't enough food or energy to sustain us. Don't you see? The only answer is genocide."

Another revelation is Holmes' feelings towards Francis. He reveals that there is "no love lost" and that his past abuses to the meta-human were nothing more than the "conqueror exercising his rights" over the conquered. By killing everyone he loves, Holmes is attempting to break Francis' spirit and make him his until the meta-human no longer serves his purpose. Essentially, Holmes drives the point home that Francis means nothing more to him than a human guinea pig, and is perfectly expendable and disposable.

_Chapter 10:_

Static and Gear are taken to the outskirts of the city of Dakota where two shallow graves await them. Holmes oversees the proceedings as two of his henchmen force the incapacitated heroes to stand over the graves to await execution. A short discourse is shared between hero and villain, in which the usual pleasantries are exchanged (i.e: "you'll never get away with this," "Shut up you foolish do-gooder," etc.); Gear uses this time to cut through his binds and make good on an escape attempt. He lashes out at his-would-be executioner, instead delivering a mortal blow. He releases his partner, who shocks his own attacker, critically wounding him. as the two heroes turn on Donovan, he is running away, fully expecting to get away with his plot, just as long as he returns to his base of operations before the authorities.

Unfortunately for him, Static has shorted out his cellphone, making communication to the base impossible, and when he arrives, he's met by the other elementals, and a fair number of the Justice League. The base has been subdued, and as Donovan makes his escape, he encounters not only Static and Gear, but Hotstreak as well, who is justifiably pissed. Fearing the wrath of the firey meta-human, Donovan makes a critical mistake in making for the roof of the compound, slipping, and falling to his death.

The shock of all this sends a very pregnant seer into labor; Jack, Static, Gear and Pixie manage to get her to the hospital in time, where Ivan meets them later. The couple is blessed with a healthy baby girl and shares a peaceful moment in juxtaposition to the near-calamity that almost befell them.

Back at the base, the police and the league are cleaning up the facility, and Edwin Alva Jr. has been arrested. Francis and Claire share a moment where the two of them decide what is best for their respective futures, after discussing the past. Francis, after speaking with his father in an unusually civil conversation, makes his final decision. Without consulting the two people he loves most in the world, he undergoes the gene-splicing treatment to remove the gay gene from his DNA.

_Chapter 11:_

Virgil and Richie find out much too late what Francis has decided; broken-hearted, they meet with him after the procedure where all three have a conversation that was long in coming. During the heated debate, tempers flare, tears are shed, but eventually they all reach the consensus that such a relationship with each other would never have worked out in the long run. Francis, for his part, regrets not informing them of the decision, but believes that it is the best thing for him. The recovery process will take a long time, he tells them, "But as for the years I spent with you guys—I don't regret a single minute of it."

They part on good terms, and Francis remains in the city, visiting occasionally and sometimes going out to bars with them, just like old times. Francis is finally approached by many heroes from the Justice League, asking why he never joined, to which he answers, "You bastards never asked."

Finally, after much cajoling, and partly at the urging of Bruce, he makes the decision to be an honorary member, but stick to the local scale rather than the global. Upon Jack's retirement from the federal government, Francis decides to move to the east coast, in Washington DC, where crime rates have spiked. Virgil and Richie respect his wishes, understanding that three heroes to one city are a little much. Francis moves, and, with the other elementals by his side, creates their own League of Heroes in the Potomac region. Virgil and Richie soon hear reports of crime rates plummeting in the city, and are proud of their former lover and newfound friend. However, as time goes on, the three eventually lose touch with each other, and end up not speaking for years.

Twenty years later, three new heroes are being admitted into the Justice League. Nigel "Thunderbolt" Hawkins and Robin "Gadget" Foley have been inducted; the two are the product of their fathers' DNA and a surrogate mother, and both have become heroes in their own right. Among their graduating class are a set of flame-haired fraternal twins, Jack "Hotshot" and Bridget "Wildfire" Stone, the children of Francis "Hotstreak" stone and his wife of 25 years, Claire. Needless to say, this second generation becomes fast friends and allies for the fight against evil in the future to come…

_The End_

* * *

Yes, I broke them up. Sorry to disappoint, but it never would have worked out in the long run. This is the end of my foray in Static Shock fanfiction; I feel that I need to branch out to include other work, particularly to cultivate my own independent original works.

Just because this is the end of this story, by no means will it be the end of my writing. As previously stated, if you see so many plot holes the story looks like Swiss cheese or "that ending sucked!" and feel you can do better: go for it.

Thank you for reading,

Luna Goldsun


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